


Sunspots

by HadrienAsbury



Category: Superman Returns (2006)
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Friendship, Romance, Self-Destruction, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-02-20 02:00:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 88,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2410814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HadrienAsbury/pseuds/HadrienAsbury
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What hopes to be an in-depth look at the romance and complications in the lives of Lois, Clark, and Superman from multiple perspectives leading up to, through, and possibly beyond the greatest Solar Maximum in recorded astronomical history. PostSR.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Realm of Expectations

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally posted on ff.net in 2007, with a hiatus from 2008 to 2016. As of 2015, AO3 now hosts the canonical (and Explicit) version of this story.
> 
> This story was written as a reaction to the theory that Jason was conceived at the end of Superman 2. It is set in 2007.
> 
> It begins with three chapters of exposition; just hold on until Chapter 4.

Three months ago, everything in Richard White's life had been progress up the long hill of adulthood: he had a house, a partner soon to be his wife, a child, a high paying and satisfying job, and the knowledge that he had made it all come about. He was accomplished, he was normal, and _life_ was normal. Each day was simply a progression from the day before, and while new things would pop up with Jason, or while Lois went through moods in relation to a new story, nothing was outside the realm of expectations.

They woke up, got Jason ready and into one of their car seats, swallowed the last bite of breakfast while starting their respective vehicles, and sometimes even parked next to each other in the _Daily Planet_ deck. Richard went straight to his office, checked his email, and dialed his messaging service, and he knew that Lois went straight to the coffee shop for a large mocha with a double shot of espresso and then up to her desk to rest her head on her monitor until the exact second that the coffee was cool enough to sip.

He knew her day almost as well as he knew his own: after the coffee she was a blur or activity and phone calls, sometimes glancing towards Richard, but more often than not just snapping at co-workers in her usual matter-of-fact way and waiting for Uncle Perry to bellow for the daily brief. This usually happened at about 10:15. Her afternoon was spent writing, researching, or in the streets. Richard would spend his own day researching his next few articles (he preferred to work on more than one at a time rather than in serial), and would glance out his office window towards the Bullpen through the Venetian blinds. They often met for lunch.

This was Life. The simple pattern of patterns that made up the weeks and months.

This morning, however, Richard was just staring. Staring and staring into the Bullpen through the slats in his blinds, because today he was staring at Clark Kent, someone Richard had only heard about in passing until the day he walked back into 'their lives.'

New faces arrived at the _Planet_ all the time. But _old_ faces... that was different.

So the day after Richard met Clark Kent he had paused in the lobby to gaze at the Hall of Framing and Matting Expenses. The long lobby hallway leading to the elevator had amused Richard when he accepted the job, since it was lined with giant, framed articles, exposés, headlines, and memorable days in human history for as long as the _Planet_ had been in business.

The whole thing was the kind of self-aggrandizement his uncle was famous for, and it was what made _The Daily Planet_ the most famous newspaper in the world.

He had gotten used to the blaring headlines, the dramatic language, the last 50 years of human history displayed like report cards on the refrigerator. He knew the faces of world leaders drawn in concentration; he knew the stoic and inhuman portraits of Superman from the day he made his first headline; he knew that Lois' named frequented the front page almost as often as Superman's, both before and beyond his stay in the city.

But what Richard had _not_ known was that Clark Kent's name was almost everywhere he looked, a name he had never trained his eye to recognize from across a hallway.

But now he saw it in bylines, awards, interviews, mentions, plaques in Perry's office, certificates in frames along the Bullpen walls, and even on an old post-it note tacked on the breakroom cork-board saying that Clark would be happy to buy the entire office lunch if someone would just _please_ stop eating his Chinese left-overs out of the fridge. There was a series of rude counter-notes and lunch orders that were probably a fond memory once-upon-ago, left until they were forgotten.

Yet what really threw Richard was what he was watching right now: Clark's face was serious, his hands waving passionately about whatever he was saying, his typical geekish manner set in concentration as he sat forward in his chair. Lois stood across from him, one foot out in front of her and supporting the weight of her argument back at him. Betty, the copy-editor older than most of the staff combined (yet a woman who kept up with technology better than anyone Richard knew) shook her head with a wide smile as she fitted earbuds into her ears to block out the argument.

What Richard was so confused about was hidden in Betty's smile, and in the way everyone in the office smiled and shook their head as Lois threw a stapler at Clark and he ducked out of the way. Everyone seemed to share an appreciation of "Lois and Clark," a phrase that had popped up into the newsroom and that included a woman that Richard had seen _scream_ that other people get in her way. Now people didn't ask 'where is Lois?', they asked 'where are Lois and Clark?'

And yet as far as Richard knew she had never had a partner. It was just one of those things: Lois works alone. But in the time that Clark had been back, a thousand untold stories surfaced about the _two_ of them.

The articles they worked on, the exclusives they brought in, their power as a journalism team, and perhaps the worst were those of an intimate nature, those kinds of memories and nostalgic conversations that can make a person feel out of place in the present and full of sadness that they weren't there in the past. Richard was consistently struck dumb at the stories like the ones Jimmy would tell:

"Wait, wait, CK, do you remember," and Jimmy trailed off laughing, "Do you remember when Lois got caught in traffic while you were covering the Bridge Street fire, and you," he turned his head and laughed like the thought of it was too much to bear, "You told her, 'Gosh Lois, you don't need to worry, this is simple as pie,' and she actually ran all the way there, the fire was out, the police were clearing the area, Superman had been and gone, she was all freaked out and you were at a BAKERY." Jimmy dissolved into laughter while Lois scowled at the memory and Clark hid his smile.

Once, early in the morning, Jimmy was sitting on the edge of Clark's desk, smiling across the aisle at Lois while Clark hid his face in his hands. Lois was still waiting for her coffee to cool, but had energy enough to tell her own remember-when, "And," she giggled, "I was in the middle of nowhere at a gas station in fucking Giston! 45 miles! I was out of gas and pissed as all hell, remember the Franklin murders, Clark?" Clark nodded from behind his hands, "And Jimmy, get this, no one knew where I was, I was out of quarters, I had no cell phone, there was no one at the station, no cars passed for HOURS, _and the payphone rings_. I figured I could at least tell whoever was calling to help me, so I pick up the phone and CLARK says, 'Hi, Lois! Where are you?'"

Lois threw her head back and laughed with more energy than she had expended all morning, "Clark! You HAD to know where I was! How the hell did you do that?" She laughed harder, shaking her head, "Goddamnit Smallville, you're hilarious."

Jimmy laughed and leaned back to prod Clark, trying to get him to move his hands so they could see his reaction. Clark was chuckling with joy on his face as he sat back in his chair, letting his hands drape across the arms of the chair and still refusing to answer Lois about something that had happened so long ago. Richard watched as the other man's sour mood from that morning dissipated instantly; Richard figured that this is how they had cheered him up for years, with Jimmy egging Lois on to tease and curse at him.

And so with Clark in their midst, Richard watched Lois, Jimmy, and even Uncle Perry draw closer to each other than he had ever seen them. Uncle Perry and Jimmy would even share "remember-whens" about the duo when they weren't there, and the whole office suddenly had a story to tell or an inside joke to introduce. Richard knew that the other new staff members felt out of place as well, but they were starting to appreciate the dynamic. They got to watch Lois be tamed by the humble, stuttering hero to the Bullpen masses and were free to enjoy it. The newbies and interns appreciated the view from the far end of the newsroom and quipped about being on the other side of Lois' temper at the water cooler.

But for Richard it was certainly more than feeling out of the loop. He felt like he had just lost his footing on life.

Lois laughed with Richard, and shared stories, yes, but hardly as many as she seemed to share with Clark, and besides all that, besides the general shift in the office and the sudden sense of familiarity that made the triangle between Lois, Clark, and Jimmy's desk seem like a Forbidden Treehouse, Richard really could not make peace with the OTHER behavior pattern. The one happening outside his office this moment: the times when the Treehouse would suddenly catch fire and Clark managed to match Lois step-for-step as she raved, ranted, and reiterated. Lois didn't let anyone talk back to her. Lois let no one hold open the door for her while she juggled files, let no one fix her noontime coffee, or answer her phone when she was on the other side of the Bullpen, or log on to her computer to search for something when she called from outside the office.

Richard had watched in open-mouthed astonishment as Clark stretched the phone across the aisle one afternoon, trying not to let it fall off his desk while he rummaged in Lois' drawer for a pen.

"Yes, okay, fine but I know that's the wrong file, Lois," Clark was moving the track ball to wake up the computer, "He's Prisoner 43-2-56-9, not 43-2-59-6," he paused to listen while he typed the password for her user name, "You know you and numbers, I just," Richard could just imagine the snappy response, "There's just no way. You know Ricardon was baiting you about the laundering, that's not his racket, yes, yes, I'm looking now," Clark's eyes were scanning Lois' Documents folder faster than Richard thought possible, "Found it. Reading." Clark had to stand and lift the coiled wire so Tom from the mailroom could walk past. The phone finally slipped off Clark's desk and hit the floor, but he ignored it. Richard could tell there was a respectful silence on the other end while he read.

"43-2-56-9."

He paused, and only Clark Kent could make, "Um, darn you to hell too, Lois, you're welcome," sound like the most polite thing anyone had ever said, while only _Richard_ could fully appreciate the trust and significance of logging onto Lois' computer as something he had never even _considered_ being allowed to do.

Lois worked alone. Lois _thought_ alone, without a fiancé or child in that brain of hers, and while they were present in every other part of her, only Clark Kent could really approach her _mind_. Not the Lois over the breakfast table, or the Lois reading to Jason at night, but the spitfire that was Lane, Reporter, press pass in your face, Pulitzer on the wall. That was Clark's Lois, and as the weeks wore on Richard started to question Richard's Lois more and more.

Why did you never mention him? How are you so fiercely independent for five years, but suddenly pause to lean your arm on someone's shoulder while you read a screen? Why is he number four on your speed dial? Why is everyone in on the joke but me?

And to be fair it had not happened over night.

Clark was obviously out of step with his old life when he first came back. He fumbled about the office for the first few weeks, not really engaging Lois or anyone for that matter. He would just sit at his computer clicking around ("When I left it was Windows ME! This XP is really neat, I've been getting familiar with it."), wander around stuttering while introducing himself to old and new faces ("Well, uh, he tends to stay inside the Papal Palace, so no, I uh didn't meet the Pope."), go in and out of the three supply closets looking for things that had moved or been invented in his absence ("Erasable highlighters? Oh man, that's useful!"), disappear randomly (leading Richard to believe he had some kind of anxiety in crowds), and get lost in thought at his desk, hands steepled.

Uncle Perry may have initially placed Clark on the most useless of fluff pieces, but he was sure to read each and every one of them in order to see if Clark was still as good as he once was. Richard, realizing now as he scanned the numerous awards and bylines that Clark was a good reporter, snuck a glance at these crumbled articles in his uncle's trash can and was surprised at the depth of thought there. Clark had obviously not only studied journalism, but had a natural talent and drive for it. As soon as Perry was satisfied that this was still the case, he assigned them together.

And rather than the huffing and puffing he would have expected from Lois, she just rolled her eyes and sighed at Perry during the Brief. Jimmy had broken out into a wide smile at the sudden pairing, and the photographer took a front row seat along with the rest of the Bullpen that afternoon, when they had their first fight.

Richard could not mark the day when Lois and Clark clicked back in to being "Lois and Clark," but did note _a_ day. Even though he had never known the pair before, he guessed at their working relationship the time that Lois sent her latest article to the printer while reminding Richard about Jason's Back to School night later that week. Lois was immediately distracted by a phone call and Richard walked back to his office, just in time to notice Clark waiting by the printer; he glanced at Lois' article before taking both his print-out and her's back to his desk.

Richard was busied for a few moments, but looked up to watch Lois approach the empty printer a few minutes later. Rather than stomp back to her desk to reprint the file or perhaps ask around, Lois just slowly turned her head to glance at Clark's desk. She walked up, picked up the white sheet with red scribbles, said, "Thanks, Smallville," and walked away. Lois wordlessly e-mailed each of her articles to him after that, and found them spell checked ("'Secrete' does pass spell check Lois, but I'm pretty sure you meant 'secret government bonds.'") and edited in her inbox, or if she was past deadline, at Copy.

Back in the present, Richard was watching Lois lose steam in the face of whatever counter-argument Clark was putting forth. Lois wouldn't listen to _him_ if he told her the sky was blue, but for Clark she would permit enough logic to make her eventually _accept_ the possibility that the sky was in fact red. Richard didn't know if he hated Clark for this.

He hated something. He hated the way Lois would probably spend the rest of today ignoring, abusing, or just lacking appreciation for the unique relationship she did not even notice having with Clark Kent. For Richard, this meant that Clark was somehow even holier, for that was probably the reason behind Betty's smile, because she knew, like everyone, how special Clark Kent seemed to be in relation to Lois Lane.

Everyone but Clark Kent, of course.

Lois sat back down at her desk, glaring in Clark's direction and hitting the keys harder than necessary. The Bullpen assumed a normal posture, Jimmy went back to not eavesdropping, and Clark adjusted the glasses on his nose in his shy, normal way. Perry bellowed for the meeting, it was 10:15.

Kent, a farm boy with a mid-western accent from Kansas; the most normal, down-to-earth American Joe Richard had EVER met, was a force outside the realm of expectations in Richard's otherwise simple life. And not even him directly, but the affect he unknowingly had on the woman Richard alone was supposed to know so well, but who now seemed like a stranger in comparison. Lois, the main part of his wake up / go to work / raise a child life was so suddenly the most alien thing he knew.

Or at least the _second_ most alien.


	2. Interviews

Lois had moved in with Richard a year into their relationship.

It had been a rainy day, just like the one that Lois was currently listening to through the storm windows, and it had been a Thursday if she figured the timing correctly. It was one of those memories both blaring and muted, like the first day of high school or the last day of college.

This memory was a door that swung very wide in her life, the door into a place that was supposed to be shared. Mutual. Cohabited. It was an Issue, the kind of thing Lois would refuse to talk about if her mother ever did manage to get her into therapy.

She had in fact recently developed a fixation about this door, this move, over the past few weeks. Thoughts came to her at home as she spotted old possessions hidden among those newer and not her own. She drove past her old building two days ago on a whim. Fate happened upon her old house line in her cell phone just this morning, as well as the thought that she still would not delete it.

And now, on this quiet Friday night Lois had a very prominent manifestation of a doorknob on her hands.

It was a box. A box she had packed so long ago that she could barely register it, yet it had her attention, four years later. A box labeled simply "Interviews" in awkward, slanted writing.

It had made its way away from her old bookshelf in her apartment to her first-floor office in Richard's inherited house ("I don't need this space, honestly! I'll move my treadmill into the basement. Take this room, you want the view"). Within it were almost two hundred hours worth of interviews with Superman: from the first micro tape of their first interview to the last CD burned from her digital recorder. It was the crux of every article she'd written on him (and some she hadn't) sitting in inert plastic holders.

Lois was listening to the rain while kneeling on her office floor, staring at the cardboard hidden behind two portable file boxes between her safe and the plant in the corner. It was a box of static, solid, and accessible records of some of the moments, conversations, and experiences had in better, less complicated times.

And it stared back at her. She sighed.

The lingering doubts about moving in with Richard were now very fresh in her mind, for not only was that the day she forfeited her independence for the Greater Good of Child Rearing, but it was the day she attempted to sate her loneliness with Richard's stable presence. She had not realized it until Superman returned, and now the hole in her was wider still.

Loneliness.

Her family and friends had remarked on what a good idea it was, how wonderful his home was and how lucky they were to have a good school district. Now she would get to pay for garbage pickup, but not a fire department. Now there was someone else to feed Jason at two in the morning. Now motherhood was going to seem a lot less shameful. It was the Suburbs, it was Domesticity, it was Child-Rearing, and it was the Nuclear Family Unit. It was great timing in her life, her career, and even her car payment. Everything was just _perfect_.

Despite this longing for the American Dream somehow surfacing in every cynical and socially dysfunctional person Lois had ever met, her own enthusiasm for the move had been less than wholly… extant. It was everything Lois could do to smile over the phone at her mother, to swoon over property values with her sister, and to keep Jimmy from grinning like an idiot when she told him she would finally 'get to start that herb garden I always wanted.' In reality, the idea made her want to scream.

Lois never moved in with men. It was like a law burned in stone by the very hand of god. It did not happen, it was not supposed to happen, it did not happen. She had explained this the day she told Richard she was pregnant, the day she had the baby, and the day after that. She maintained this mantra throughout the nights, holding onto it even as everything else in her life was taken away.

Yet even the oldest stone could _crack_. And Lois eventually did. Jason was born and she spent almost every night for six straight weeks just staring out her window, his cries constant in the early days of his existence, her never-ending worry and regret eating at her. She could feel her resolve melting away as she slowly lost her mind, as the child at her breast reshaped her entire universe, as she realized that she was alone.

 _They_ , she and the little creature now and forever a part of her, were alone.

Not in spirit, since they were not lacking in well-wishers, good friends, a supportive family (far removed, thank god), and even a responsible and eager father in Richard.

But, they were alone.

Because he was gone.

An equation someone in college once shared with her made Lois give pause:

"Divide however many months you were together by two. That's how long it takes to get over them."

At first Superman's disappearance had been simply odd. Then she listened, watched, and read every news report from around the world for the next six weeks. Eight weeks after _that_ she scanned the skies almost constantly, whispering his name randomly at work, at home, worried and frantic. Her body had been swollen, her mind twisted with confusion at her new relationship status and the circumstances around it… yet the pain of wondering whether Superman was alive or dead ate at her.

It was enough to make her lose her mind, and that all still tormented her even as she nursed her baby, her newest and greatest concern.

So it was that when Jason was three months old, Lois told Richard that they would move in with him, out to the great Suburb of Bayview and into the shackles of Perfection.

Lois held her miracle while Richard, Jimmy, and Richard's brother Michael moved her boxes in. She had packed with care, relishing the memories hidden in simple objects around her apartment, taking the time to file old paperwork and organize documents for storage. She walked slowly through the spaces, even when she was just crossing the room to get something, trying to seep in the essence of her place before she had to give it up.

Lois had four months left on her lease when she decided to move out, but opted to move to Bayview immediately because a significant day was approaching. She told Richard at dinner one night that she needed to be gone by the next Tuesday, and then requested that she be able to spend that last night at her apartment alone. He agreed, staring into her.

The next week Richard took Jason and two bottles of breast milk to let her make her peace with her former life. Lois had opened the door to face her empty apartment, a few spare things strewn here and there on the bare floors. She didn't turn on the lights, and just walked forward into the moonlight by memory, an infinite sadness rising in her throat.

Lois had difficulty saying goodbye to places, despite having lived in fifteen homes in her lifetime so far. More fodder for the couch.

That night the cool tiles of her balcony wore under her constant pacing. Lois had been agitated and upset, her first night away from Jason and ponderous about the meaning of this painful self-indulgence.

Richard didn't know it, but this night was a year to the day that Lois had last seen Superman. She had given him a year to come back, a year before she would begin to smolder in fury at his silent absence.

A year of hope.

So she waited. She told herself this was the last night, the last time she would do this to herself, and that she should just have hope this _one last time_.

But, the night waned, the cold seeped in too far, and Lois realized he really was not coming back. It was over as suddenly as it began.

The minute-by-minute agony of this night was too hard to remember, and to this day Lois shied away from the particulars. She could only remember the next morning, when she woke sore from crying and wearing her mind out in search of herself. As dawn came, Lois washed the salt from her face in the shower and closed, walled off, locked, and cauterized the wound left in her life by Superman. Whether he was alive or dead was all the same now. She was suddenly and unmistakably ready to start her new life.

At work she cleared her desk of notes on his disappearance, threw away headline clippings with her byline, ducked her head as she passed the framed portraits of him near the elevators, and even stopped wearing red for awhile until she noticed she was doing so. She reacted by defiantly purchasing five red sweaters for herself and one for infant Jason.

And then of course, there was the Move.

The new life with a new house, a new baby, and a new schedule had wholly consumed her. In the flurry of it all she had allowed herself to blur the details, forget the moments, and make Superman and their star-crossed non-affair a distant star fading in the sunrise of a new reality. It was as if the ocean had risen up to sweep the evidence of trespass out to sea.

Three years later, Lois wrote the article that won her a Pulitzer.

Richard had been intrigued to see her write about Superman, that's how silent she had been in the meantime: that the man closest to her had to wait with the rest of the world for her to say a word. And when the first word came out, hundreds followed.

Lois had been adamant about her silence on the topic; she murmured to Perry one afternoon that she knew no more than the next reporter about why Superman was gone and this was a statement that screamed in its significance. Luckily the Chief didn't push her. At the start it had been because her pregnancy and Richard's new position at the _Planet_ had become a reality, and Perry dropped the topic of Superman's disappearance. Both of them silently acknowledged that to milk Lois' connection to Superman in light of the tabloid-type treatment it already received might be too much strain on such a delicate non-relationship as that between Lois and Richard. Now that there was a child involved, Perry let Superman rest in order not to scare Richard away. She was grateful for it.

But she eventually wrote The Article, and no one knew until she presented it to the Chief, who immediately sent it to Editing. It was published the next day.

And then… he came back.

It was incredible. It _defined_ incredible. Words still would not come whenever she thought about it. She had tried to just keep breathing, just keep living and working and mothering and it worked... until Lois' bare feet touched down after their impromptu flight. That night her dormant feelings had flared back to brightness, both the hurt and the anger, the loneliness and the resentment.

But they didn't exactly get to talk about it.

Lois had a busier life now than ever; there were fewer late nights at the _Planet_ that could afford an off-the-cuff interview on the roof, almost no moments to replace the nights that Lois would call for him on her balcony when she lived alone, and with their state of awkwardness, no possibility after local disasters to excuse themselves for a friendly fly around the city.

It also seemed that Superman didn't interact with anyone at all. He no longer stayed for sound bites after daring rescues or even chat as much with the local, smaller victims of life like the little old ladies with the stranded cats or the construction workers he used to startle at the top of buildings for a mutual chuckle.

Lois didn't notice it at first, the complete lack of conversation. She was too busy having a nervous breakdown, trying not to be obvious about it, escaping _Luthor_ , worrying about the long-term effects of all of this on Jason, and wracking herself sick trying to remember having sex with the man she fantasized about for years.

She thought of this one day, a week or so after telling him he was a father, and made her way out onto the roof, waiting without realizing it. He had come, but this meeting was very different than their first. Despite now knowing that they were closer than they ever imagined, the distance between them was further than it had ever been. She could barely look at him; the new knowledge that they were lovers was a bitter and confusing pill.

He took this opportunity to explain that the five years the world had spent without him only felt like a few weeks to him, to explain that he would never had left for so long if he'd realized. Despite her anger she pitied him for this; his one, selfish moment that just happened to last five years. To have left this planet to find another, all in the hope of finding family, and to return only to realize he'd left a son behind was truly terrible. It made it impossible to stay angry, which was probably why the bastard had told her to begin with.

Besides this sad context to his absence, not much else was said. Fortunately and unfortunately, the topic of Jason was an immediate change of subject that was easier to talk about than her own feelings. He nodded when she'd asked if he'd heard her that day in the hospital.

"I understand that this is an unwanted complication in your life. I.. will abide by your wishes, whatever they are," he paused and looked down. Lois realized that she was used to waiting for him to finish a sentence, usually because his head would tilt and he would listen half a world away. This time the pause was hesitance.

"Okay," was all she was able to say.

The silence stretched on, every second of it making Superman seem more and more miserable. Finally, he turned to leave, pausing to see if she had any last words, polite to a fault.

"Come when I call for you?"

"Always."

And he was gone. She did not call him again, finding it far too painful and awkward, more for him than her. A thousand times she wondered about Jason's conception, and the question burned in her. But two things stopped her: she didn't want to know, and she didn't know how to ask. She didn't remember _him_. Lois realized that she had spent so much time forgetting that she couldn't remember _anything_. She even found it strange to remember to wait for his pauses, how could she hope to understand more?

* * *

So it was that on this rainy night Lois used her favorite letter opener to slice the tape on the "Interviews" box. If she was to discover what to do about her future, she should remember her past. She was sick of such large questions regarding the time lost, the love spent and forgotten; she would return to the beginning, try to find something there in the relative simplicity of their relationship that would help her see a solution to their painful silence.

Resolved, Lois took in her situation: Jason was in bed, Richard was out of town at the SPJ conference, and it was Friday. She ran her finger across the neatly organized rows of tapes and CDs and let her hand reach out for the earliest date:

'Mayor Frederick / Chief of Police re: arson threat / Super-Man'

Every tape after that said only "Superman" and she smiled at herself. Being a journalist made it very easy to interview your crush, and having a crush made it very easy to be a journalist. Lois picked up her mug of chamomile tea while she sat down in her office chair and dug through a drawer searching for her old tape recorder. AC adapter in the wall, headphones on, finger on the volume poised in case it was terribly loud, and then the hiss of tape fast forwarding. She stopped and heard her voice finish a question. Too soon. Fast forward. Silence. 

"Well, um, hello. My name is Lois Lane, as you know I'm a reporter for the _Daily Planet_ … which is a _newspaper_ ," Lois of the present smiled at herself, at the way she perceived the ignorance of a creature who knew more about humanity than she did, "and I am here interviewing the person all the world is wondering about, Super-man." The name sounded awkward on her younger tongue.

Lois of now braced herself.

"Good evening, Ms. Lane, and thank you very much for asking me here."


	3. Darkness

Clark Kent had been seriously depressed for the last three months, six days, and ten minutes. It was the kind of depression that makes you feel inadequate to _live_ , with guilt stacking up around him, black, darkening the sun, suffocating him.

Every day he slipped deeper, every day it got darker.

Three months, six days, and ten minutes ago was when he learned how long he was away, back on the farm in his mother's company:

" _Five years?_ " he actually clutched his chest. "It can't have been that long. What's the date? What's the date!"

He dove for the phone and he dialed the _Planet_ 's main number so fast his fingers blurred. His voice reached an octave that made his mother turn frown in alarm as he quickly asked as many questions as the main receptionist could answer.

"Oh Clark Kent! No way! Wait, no, yes, she's still, yes him too, I'm sure Mr. White, yes, would be happy to take your, okay, hold on just a moment, slow down!"

He faked as many stutters as he could realistically fit into his conversation with Perry, put in a few laughs for good measure, and flew to Metropolis in time to take the elevator the next morning, terrified at what he would find Upstairs.

The black wall went higher when a picture frame fractured in his grip, and the knowledge of Lois' new commitments rose like a barrier between him and the past. A child and a prolonged engagement! The shock of it made the room tilt.

Less than forty-eight hours back on Earth, and his nose was in a beer. Less than five minutes after _that_ there was a mid-air crisis involving the engaged mother in question, and Clark was suddenly able to focus on the thing he did the best.

* * *

After Lois was safe and dismissing Clark Kent's return to the Bullpen, Clark watched her, hair now flowing down her back in waves. He was mesmerized by the subtle differences five years made. She was thinner, her face was more mature, and there was a hint of motherhood in her bust. Her style of dress was more feminine, her posture spoke of even _more_ confidence, and she carried a larger purse. Yet, she had the same walk, the same quick wit, the same smile and the same fierce attitude. He loved her just as easily as he had only a few weeks before.

The agony of it was worse this time.

Later that night, his vision revealed the cross-section of domesticity that was Dinner at the White Household... until the conversation shifted and Lois stiffened in the face of questioning. Clark _knew_ that she said she denied loving him under the direct gaze of her fiancé, a difficult situation at best, but the words still hurt. He slipped deeper into darkness.

She'd had a child. Lois Lane, a mother. It was impossible.

Clark went back to the bar later that night, made a phone call with a scrap of paper in his hand, and switched to whiskey. He owed Jimmy a shot, anyway.

He rested his head on the bar while Jimmy told him about Lois' pregnancy and the insane demands for new light bulbs and soy hotdogs with homemade relish that she had made everyday at the same hour; the change in Perry after his heart attack two years ago; and finally that Kyle and Maurice had convinced the entire Bullpen that they were in love as an April Fools joke last year, and it had been a shock to them when no one really reacted. Clark snorted into his glass at this story, but hung his head again as the topic shifted back to Lois.

Clark was never a seasoned drinker, and he didn't want to be, so he stumbled and slouched for most of the way to Jimmy's apartment. Where he promptly passed out on the couch, fully dressed.

The next day Clark hoped no one noticed that he was wearing his suit from yesterday when he entered the supply closest, and another as he exited. He sighed and looked around the Bullpen. _Five years?_

* * *

As Clark got reacquainted in the Bullpen, Superman got reacquainted with Lois. Her resentment of Superman was apparently too little in the face of her old feelings. It was more than he had hoped for.

Their flight, her lips only inches from his; he was amazed at how near they had come. It was a moment that seemed not far removed from their last, a scene that made it hard for him to remember that she was practically a stranger. If it felt odd at first, there must have been enough of them left to let her continue their dance and only miss a step.

Obligations to a fiancé forgotten, Clark had hope. Though it was a rare, selfish hope, and it felt wrong in the back of Clark's mind. But, it was hope none-the-less.

Even during the Luthor nightmare, Clark had hope. He had been beaten and bleeding and Lois had come back for him, had literally saved his life, got his blood on her hands, desperate even with Richard right there. Later, she had come to him in darkness while he laid in a white room, the only civilian in the world that could force their way in to him.

She spoke to him. Simply. Though not easily. _He had a son._

Which meant Clark had done worse than selfishly flee his pain, more than traverse the galaxy in a useless search... He had left the seed of life in the womb of the woman he loved, and stolen the memory of its making from her.

So then, even as her lips did finally whisper against his, trapped in a hospital bed and yearning for the past, the depression made him sink away, churning amidst the surprise.

* * *

From that moment on, the first breaths taken each morning felt heavy, and the reality of going into work to sit mere feet from Lois was absolute torture. He was sentenced to watch her from behind the barrier of his own guilt, tempted daily to ask her forgiveness for something she didn't even remember…

Clark saw no way out; nothing he could do would both atone for his own guilt _and_ keep Lois from despising him.

He sat now, suffering through those first conscious breaths of a new morning, in his new apartment on his new mattress, the tendrils of depression rising up to block out the light. As they had done every morning since he'd found out.

Clark knew he could not forgive himself. Would he rather Lois hate and mistrust him forever than live with this?

He didn't know. He ran his fingers through his hair as he sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the dust on the floor. He just didn't know. Living two lives was difficult, but it was always justifiable, something he could grit his teeth against. Now, knowing how close he had been to everything he wanted, the idea of maintaining the secret seemed cruel... which is how Clark feared Lois would see it this time.

Afterall, Lois had not hated him when she found out. She'd said she loved him instead, _him_ , Clark Kent. And he knew her so well, well enough to know when she threw down all her walls, when she kissed him with the truth. He listened to her sigh in pleasure as she took everything that Clark surrendered.

Which was why the genetic miracle with wide blue eyes that scampered through the Bullpen on Friday afternoons hurt so much to see. He was evidence of a experience that Clark tried not to relive, a night he had purposefully saved Lois the pain of remembering. And it meant that even if Superman could avoid explaining their liaison, he could not be a father to Jason. Only Clark Kent could. Only Clark Kent could pick him up from daycare, make pancakes for slumber parties, sign permission slips for school.

But Lois would not forgive it again. He knew she wouldn't, and he didn't deserve it anyway. Not now that he'd told her once already, slept with her in the meantime, stole the memory of it without her consent, and left her to raise their child and never know.

She'd hated him for leaving. And she would hate him even more if she ever found out why.

So here he was again. Facing the day. Clark sat lost in thought on the edge of his bed for a good ten minutes before awareness came back. He needed to get up now in order to do his rounds in time to stay on schedule. No matter what, he wouldn't be late for work. So he stood up, yawned, and then padded to the bathroom, where he avoided his own eyes in the mirror as he shaved.

He still had work. Work saved him.

After he'd come home from the hospital, he'd to adjust to not only a different relationship with Lois, but to Jason, an older Bullpen, and a changed world. There was paperwork at the bank, the search for an apartment, new clothing to buy, a state ID to wait in line for, books on world travel to read up on, all his possessions to retrieve. The list went on.

Thankfully, struggling with the necessities of life kept his mind focused. But as the fires raged and the criminals plotted, Clark was finding life harder to live than ever before.

Lois was simply too fascinating in motherhood, too strong in work, too beautiful in moonlight for him to grit his teeth against it this time. At one point Clark was sure he could not do it, that he could not stumble over his words on purpose or ignore what his super-hearing made him aware of when Lois kissed and spoke to Richard in his office. He couldn't stop himself from wincing when Jason would show him pictures of Superman, or when he only imagined Lois whispering his name at night.

He was so tempted to spill everything, to rip his shirt off at her feet, beg her forgiveness in the middle of the Bullpen.

Life was too hard to live.

Until Perry assigned them together one morning at a staff meeting, almost two months ago.

More than a brief, this meeting was when serious decisions and issues were passed down from the Editor-and-Chief, and Clark's head snapped up when he heard his name in tandem with Lois. He glanced at her and saw her roll her eyes, but he couldn't keep a small smile off his face that they would be working together again.

While undeniably only _more_ painful, working with Lois was a joy only a journalist could understand. For whatever he was, Clark _was_ a reporter, and sharpening your nose on the same grindstone as Lois Lane was passion, it was energy, it was what he wanted to do.

Clark looked at himself in the mirror, meeting his own eyes, confident in the fact that this was absolutely true.

If he could not be her lover, or her companion in parenthood, then he would be her partner as he always has been. He would chase her around the city, take her abuse, edit her articles, spend late nights at the Bullpen, share her byline, suffer the monotony, argue with her, and challenge her. It burned in him like it burned in her: the thrill of the chase, the conquering of evil one ink-stained day at a time. It was important; it was _life_ in the face of his dreary existence, it was his finger on the pulse of the city and he wanted it, wanted her, and was thankful to have it all back.

Yes, the guilt, the anger at himself, it threatened to suffocate him in the mornings, but by the time he made it to his desk and saw Lois opening her pores over her morning coffee, he was ready to breathe again.


	4. Animal Crackers

"Excuse me, do you have a…." Clark had to move out of the way as he was brushed by.

Tuesdays. Ugh, Tuesdays.

"Bill, do you have a-"

"Busy! Later!"

Clark approached Marissa's desk, the woman with the nails that Clark was fascinated by. How did she type with those? "Hi Marissa, do you have a dime?"

"No." Her eyes never left the screen. She had one of those fake fish tanks on her desk that Clark had never seen batteries in. An algae-type scum had gathered along the top. Mineral oil would probably have been a better idea for the long-term. Maybe a drop of bleach.

"Two nickels?"

"No." Her phone rang, she picked it up and Clark stared at her three-inch long nails.

"Um, thanks."

Clark sighed and turned around. Okay, west side of the Bullpen.

"Dime?"

The new Lifestyle columnist looked up at Clark, who had an apologetic smile on his face and was holding out a hand with some loose change, inviting pity for his cause. "I could really use a snack."

"I don't carry change sorry, Mark. But look around, there's usually change. Under a desk or something." The Lifestyle columnist always wore a hat below his ears, always. How did he talk on the phone with that? It's probably why he called everyone something only phonetically similar to his or her name. At least he answered with full sentences.

"Thanks," smiled Clark as he walked away. Lois was making her way back from the bathroom and he picked up his pace to meet her at a desk intersection.

"Lois! Do you have a dime? Please tell me you have a dime, anything. I could really use some animal crackers from the machine, I'm famished…"

Lois kept her pace on a beeline for her desk, " _Animal crackers?_ Christ, Smallville, I'm not sure if you're quaint or hopeless." And kept walking.

Clark had asked everyone he was comfortable asking and so started looking under desks and in the dusty, dirty crannies that the cleaning service couldn't fit hoses and waxing machines into. He had salvaged three pennies before Lois stepped up close to him while he was bending over, and he came face to face with a bag of crackers being held up to his nose when he extended back to full height. "I wonder about you sometimes, Kent. Animal crackers, _honestly_." She held up a dime in her other hand, "Here, for next time," and dropped it on top of the two quarters, one nickel, and three pennies in his forgotten hand.

"BRIEF! NOW! You people annoy me!" and senior staff, section managers, and reporters started to gather their notes and head to the conference room. Clark accepted the crackers and smiled at the back of Lois' head, her focus already back on her legal pad as she clicked her way back to her desk to grab her coffee.

Clark ripped the corner of the bag off with his teeth, threw it away, and kept the bag in his mouth while he grabbed two pens, his coffee, and a pad of his own. They had just finished their article on the new earthquake proofing that the city council had tried to introduce in light of the shockwave and were now expecting a new assignment. Clark always liked the lottery-like distribution of stories, never knowing what kind of story they were going to get: its scale, scope, or duration. They could get six stories in a single week or one story that required six.

Clark was the second-to-last person into the conference room and had to fit himself into a spot right next to the door before shutting it behind Todd from Food and Wine. Everyone looked miserable as usual, shifting their eyes back to their desks as various unmanned phones had already begun to ring. Perry sat at the head of the table with mismatched suspenders; to Clark's knowledge no one his entire life had ever had the courage to suggest he was color-blind. His wife must have still been asleep when the editor got dressed this morning. She usually got into the gin on Monday nights. Some things never change.

"Business! Do you need any _more_ time on the Styler-Morrison Merger? Because it's DAYS OLD NOW! The SQUIRRELS have already received their dividends!"

"Well, uh, we think there was something fishy in the-"

"PUBLISH FIRST! Follow-up with sordid details later! It's a _news_ paper!" Perry moved his head only a fraction to the left in the circle of suits and power-ties, "ARTS! Good job on the Picasso opening. Very few people care, but those who do are satisfied. Thank you, you may keep your jobs. Find me something else by tomorrow's Brief, and you're lucky I only have to fit my head around those artsy terms once a week."

Head came around another degree, "Metro, heads up that subways fares are going up again, I got word from my friend in the MTA on voicemail. He feels he's about to lose his job so do him a favor and rip the shit out of the mayor for me. What's wrong with six fare hikes a year? You tell me. It's a terrible world for commuters, blah, blah, blah.

"Science! Good news for you, some major French scientist was found murdered in his laboratory, nerds are afraid of weapons and small fires, right? Have fun with that.

"Travel, good piece on the falling tourism rates since megalomania reared its head AGAIN. Rip into the mayor again for me. In the meantime, someone get around to asking Superman if he'll do a hotel commercial or something." Clark watched Lois actually _snort_ at that. Everyone noticed. "In reality, Venice sunk another inch, if you're lucky you'll get me to send you there before it's gone for good.

"Health! Flax seed! It's all the rage! Discuss!

"Sports! If I see McHay make another error on a ground ball I'll shoot him from the upper deck! That's not your problem. What _is_ your problem is that I want to start to cover the odd shit. ATVs, hang gliding, these people have million dollar sponsors, someone cares! Educate me on why baseball isn't good enough for the kids anymore, maybe then I'll understand my grandson.

"International!" Perry had turned to Richard now, just back from a conference, "Did you learn anything? Good! Learn this: don't be afraid of Superman, he's back, let's talk about the various earthquakes, mudslides and shipwrecks across the world, SHALL WE? What do I pay you for? To report on revolutions, the greening of Europe? Yes, admittedly I do. But Superman globe-hops daily, there're more disasters worldwide than nationally, he saved three hundred people in Singapore yesterday, I want in, let's go!"

Richard opened his mouth to respond.

"The rest of you continue what you're doing. I think. I don't care. I want to retire. Get out, do something! Lane, Kent, Masood, Veringetti, stay here and STOP crinkling that bag Kent, or I'll kick you and your hyperglycemia back to eff-ing Kansas! Are those _animal crackers?_ " Clark froze with his mouth open and fingers poised to drop some crackers onto his tongue, pen clenched between two fingers.

Perry defined 'brief.' The conference room slowly cleared of people smiling and shaking their heads at Clark, and at least fifteen phones stopped ringing just as their respective owners reached out to pick them up back at their desks. Everyone sighed and turned their monitors back on; Williams and Rao in Science and Technology put their heads together. Clark finally approached the table and got to sit down. He tipped the last of his crackers into his hand and ate them quickly. Lois sent him an amused grin, Clark flashed back a goofy smile and help up the bag. "Hit the spot!"

"SHUT UP!"

Clark cleared his throat while Veringetti outright laughed at him. Richard had hung back as he often did to listen to Lois' new assignments and gave Clark a sympathetic look. For not the first time, Clark wondered why Richard was always watching him with a puzzled expression.

Perry sat back in his chair, "Well, well, my two best teams need two assignments at the same time. Death match?" They stared at him, he moved on immediately, "Well, luckily we have two irons in the fire: the mayor has recently been under heavy criticism for granting contracts to that construction company, um, damn what was it called..."

"McMillan – Gross," Lois finished for him.

"Yes! McMillan – Gross, for additional fireproofing in state buildings around the city. There's a story here, find it. Second, I got a tip that the police are interested in that 13th street warehouse, a property owned (last I knew) by Henderson for his antiquities fencing. The question is, what's going on there now? Henderson has been in jail for a year and a half now, all assets frozen thanks to Lois, so who's operating out of there now and why? Lois, Kent, you two start looking into McMillian – Gross, the mayor-"

"Wait, no way Chief, the Henderson story was mine three years ago, I have the experience here, that's my story. Besides, Masood's afraid of dark, moist places…"

"Lois, I didn't want you on that story then and I don't want you on its sequel now."

"Why the hell not!"

"You were out at all hours, Richard needed to hire a nanny, your car got stolen, _you were taken hostage-_ -"

"Bullshit! My story. I don't give a damn if you think I'm too maternal for this shit anymore, Jason's older now anyway, he actually sleeps through a night, I took the lid off that entire operation, testified in court, I have a right to follow up anything on that property! Besides, I have Clark back now!"

Clark's heart soared at the wording in Lois' protest. Poor Kyle had raised a finger and opened his mouth in silent objection to Lois' jibe and had just sat there, speechless, ever since. Lois rarely dug in so deep anymore. Some new fire was burning under her. Richard had stepped away from the wall in order to interject, obviously not convinced that Clark was the pinnacle of security in a dangerous world.

"I think Uncle Perry is right, Lois, that was-"

"No. My story. You think you're going to stick me on a fluff corruption piece out of Klein's office? Let Veringetti bat his eyelashes at his accountant this time, I'm sick of deskwork. Do you want an _investigative_ reporter, Perry? And _they_ just got the Battlefront murders, it's my turn to risk my neck!"

Kyle and Tony stared back at her. Tony spoke up.

"I, uh, was kinda hoping for a break, Chief. Kyle almost lost a pinky two weeks ago." Clark wasn't sure if he was joking, but did try to imagine the circumstance around _almost_ losing a pinky. Perry glared at Veringetti.

"Don't bother getting angry at them, it's my story," Lois stood up, "Henderson might be out of the picture but now I'm damned curious to see who's taken up his reins. You forget that there was more than _illegal antiquities_ coming out of that warehouse. I've never seen that much cocaine."

"Fine. It's your story. But you're lucky Superman's back in town Lane, or I'd alert the police to your presence. As it is I think I'll find a way to alert _him_."

Richard glanced sideways at his uncle at that statement. Then he looked at Lois.

She was _angry._ The room watched her eyes narrow. She spoke in a flat tone. "I didn't get killed last time, did I?"

"No, but now you will _definitely_ return in one piece," he waggled his pinkies at her, "He probably watches your morning commute for potholes."

Silence. Clark cringed.

Perry was doing this on purpose, riling Lois up over Superman in front of Richard. It was fair, after all, if Lois was going to question his authority this blatantly then she should face a consequence of her own; it was a familiar dance, but Clark had never seen her this uncomfortable. Clark was uncomfortable as well; he _did_ watch her commute sometimes, just in case, it was…

"Come on Clark, we've got work to do," and with that Lois swept her belongings off the polished table and flew out the door. Clark fumbled behind her and kicked the doorframe in his haste, "Ouch! Don't worry Chief, I'll calm her down," he said over his shoulder. "The hell you will!" came the muffled response from Lois, already halfway to the elevator. Richard watched the familiar 'there goes Lois and Clark' smile make its way onto a few faces as Clark ran to catch up. Richard turned back to Perry, Kyle, and Tony.

"Does he really watch her that closely?"

Perry avoided his eyes, already regretting what he had said. He was never that interested in hurting people's feelings, but to stir up relationship issues was far outside his game. However Tony, always at odds with Lois, did seem to take some satisfaction in what Kyle said next.

"He listens for her, knows when she needs him. She could probably jump off a building at random and be caught before she got six floors down." Perry did more glaring. "The first thing he did both times he suddenly appeared on this planet was to save-" Perry slammed his fist down.

Tony chirped in, "Hey! Remember when Lois and Clark-"

"MCMILLAN – GROSS NOW OR YOU'RE BOTH FIRED!" The whole Bullpen turned at this; the door was still open from Clark's departure. The two reporters scampered out of the conference room, avoiding Richard's eyes.

Richard sat down heavily in a chair, facing the Bullpen. A faded poster hung on a giant pillar that read: " _ **The Daily Planet**_ **, Superman's Voice to the World!** " with one of Jimmy's first credited pictures of a very young Lois Lane holding a tape recorder up to a hovering Superman, a fire raging through a brick apartment building in the background. Thankfully you could only see this poster from the conference room or Richard would have burned a hole in it _without_ heat vision.

Perry tried to diffuse the awkwardness, "Lois explained Superman to the world, met his critics with facts, warned him about his enemies. He kept a special eye on her for that." An explanation that pointed to friendship and mutual benefit. Good spin. It was true, after all. Perry's aging mind suddenly shifted back many years: he had once gotten the opportunity to watch Lois slide into Superman's arms and ascend to the heavens with him after a particularly nasty bank robbery. Lois did not know Perry was in the crowd, and they were staring into each other like lovers too far gone to notice. That was right before he disappeared.

He chanced a glance at Richard, who was still looking at Perry's favorite advertisement campaign of all time. Lois' face was serious; there wasn't a hint of the greater feelings to come between the two of them. Perry was happy that Richard had been out of the country for most of Superman's stay in the city or he would have never believed him.

Perry was watching Richard as he sighed, not in dejection, but as if he had just put down a book and was ready for a new pursuit for a while. The younger man excused himself from the room.

The wizened editor hoped his nephew would keep missing the glances that Betty kept giving Lois every time Superman's face came on the monitors. Or, more importantly, would not think to look for windblown hair or notice the lack of a smoke after rooftop 'cigarette breaks.' Perry hadn't seen Lois disappear to the roof like she used to, but knew the time was coming. Lois could only deny it for so long, could only ignore Betty, Sam, and Heather's glances or the fact that Superman would randomly circle _The Planet_ after rescues so many times before it showed.

Oh, it was coming. It was just a matter of when. People don't stare into each other's eyes like that and then forget about it. The romance between Lois and Superman may have been suspended, but it was definitely not finished. Perry cringed at the thought.

But, just when he thought he needn't dedicate any more brainpower to Lois and the men in her life, Richard poked his head back into the conference room.

"Um, Uncle Perry? Could I have a word with you about something, actually?"

Perry kept himself from sighing and waved Richard in. The many possible questions that flirted with his imagination were forced from his mind when Richard closed the door, turned and asked delicately, with some obvious effort, "Has Clark Kent changed? I mean, this soul-searching he left _The Planet_ for, has it expressed itself, somehow? Is he different?"

The older man sat back in his chair in surprise.

He looked at Richard. The other man was actually serious, this was a serious question to him. So he shook the puzzlement out of his head and decided think about it. Clark, Clark… recently called from his mother's house, confessed he spent his life savings on the trip, wanted to send in a resumé for any available positions. Perry had hired him without the formalities, he came back, resumed the fantastic writing, complemented Lois as he always had…

"He might be a little more sedated than he used to be: Clark was a little bouncier once, spilled more stuff, pencils _everywhere_. But otherwise, no. He may have found religion or some other personal shift that I'm not aware of, but that's Clark," and he waved in the general direction of Clark's desk as if he was there and not chasing Lois around the city. "Why, do you think he's addicted to opium or something, because that would be great."

Richard ignored the non sequitur. "Has his relationship with Lois changed?"

"You aren't skirting around the fact that Clark follows Lois around like a moth to a flame, are you? Because he's done that forever. There was a pool once about how long it would take for Lois to figure out Clark had a crush on her. But there's nothing to worry about there, honestly. Why, I remember Lois and Clark-"

But Richard interrupted him, perhaps a little impatiently, "No no. I don't care about that. I just mean that Lois has undergone such a change recently, have you noticed?" he hesitated, "She treats Clark so differently-," Richard halted, seemed to shake his head through that thought, and tried another, "How about the way she shot you down in here, I've never seen her quite so ferocious. And it was in the midst of that that she mentioned having Clark 'back,' so if she was implying that his presence makes a difference to her, I was wondering if that same presence would influence…" he trailed off into his question at Perry's expression.

"You've never seen Lois do that before? She doesn't do that to _you_ every night before bed?" he laughed, "Because that's more Lois than Clark, always. He's her pacifier, not an instigator. In fact the only time I've ever seen _Clark_ riled up is in an argument with Lois."

"It's the only thing I can think of." Richard looked a little lost. Perry could tell he was trying to articulate his thoughts on the spot, as if none of it was quite clear to him yet.

The editor was still trying to find something odd in either Lois or Clark, but as he thought back over the meeting it seemed like just another day. Richard took another route.

"Do you know, no one except Jimmy ever mentioned him to me before he came back? Yet now everyone smiles at him like they've missed him for years. And then, when I try to ask them about it, they look confused, almost like they forget him if they're not looking right at him. But he seems to have left such a void in his absence, a void no one noticed until he came back."

"And you're concerned that that void just happens to be in the floor next to Lois?" Richard had to be worried about Clark's affection for Lois, there was nothing else Perry could think of. Their friendship? Who would be jealous of that? Lois kicked Clark at the shins almost everyday. He decided to counter with that.

"If you're worried about their working relationship, I wouldn't envy Clark. Look what he has to put up with. Honestly Richard, there's nothing there to be concerned about…"

Richard did not look convinced, but he shrugged, "I guess you're right. Maybe it's just the shock of seeing Lois appreciate a partnership (Perry guffawed)… or having a partner to begin with. I don't know, never mind." He cleared his throat. "So, more Superman stories from around the world, got it. Singapore. I'm going to take my lunch a little early today, maybe brush up on my German…"

Perry watched him head for the door, distracted. He wasn't sure from what foolish place this thought pattern had sprung, but as long as Richard was more preoccupied by Clark's impact on Lois rather than Superman's, things would probably be better for everyone. Maybe it was Clark's proximity to Richard's reality, the day-to-day of the newsroom as opposed to the random, god-like interventions of Superman. But Lois, acting strangely? Perry thought she was more herself than she had been in years, really. And that was the problem.

Perry finally got up, sorted his notes and made for the door. He walked from the conference room to his office, relishing the bustle of the newsroom for the five seconds he was in it, and then slammed the door behind him.

Lois had really been more like herself lately. He had assumed motherhood had fundamentally muted her a little, but now he wondered. If Perry was going attribute this to anyone, it would obviously be Superman, but Richard's arrested words ("She treats Clark so _differently_ -") gave him reason to pause in that assumption. He made his way over to the credenza that ran along one wall of his office, the kind of useless office furniture that editors-in-chief get to have in their offices after forty-five years in the business. It was crowded with picture frames, so many in fact that half of them were eclipsed by the others. Perry got on his tiptoes in order to peer down at all of them and knocked forward three frames as he attempted to extract the one he wanted. He cursed and try to stand them back up, started a domino affect, and finally just left half the dusty collection ruined on top of themselves.

He sat at his desk, and looked down at the picture.

Laughing up at him from six years ago was Clark Kent, covered in cake and blue frosting. Standing to his right was Lois Lane, whose cake encrusted hands made her the culprit behind the one and only food fight in _Daily Planet_ history. Lois had discovered it was Clark's birthday by picking up his phone while he was out somewhere. His mother was calling to wish him a happy birthday and by the time Clark got back, the office was primed for a party. Lois had to act so quickly that streamers of calculator paper were flung here and there, and people were wearing coffee filters that had been scribbled on with highlighters for party hats. Clark looked like he was about to cry after he took his first few steps out of the elevator and glanced around at the entirety of the Bullpen singing 'Happy Birthday' in semi-darkness. Half of them were still answering phones, Jimmy was rummaging for extra coffee filters, and Lois didn't come running out of the break room with a sheet cake and candles from the bakery around the corner until halfway through the song, but Perry had never seen Clark look so happy. Lois held the cake up for inspection before Clark blew out the candles, and then promptly took a handful of it and pushed it in his face.

Between the cake on the walls and the shredded paper Lois had gathered for confetti, Perry had never seen the cleaning service so angry. The staff had to stay to Print and laughed with every breath because the more they moved, the more the mess moved. Some people covered their chairs in garbage bags and slipped off them and onto the floor, only to slip on the cake already there. The whole office's semi-annual budget supply of paper towels, coffee filters, garbage bags and half of its calculator paper was lost in the mayhem. Clark's eyes misted over for weeks whenever anyone mentioned it. Bill _still_ blames Lois for ruining the upholstery in his Hyundai.

But, as Perry looked down at this joyful memory, he had to admit that if Lois knew the date of everyone else's birthday in the _whole building_ , she probably wouldn't have done that for _any_ of them. Except maybe Jimmy.

A storm may be coming for Richard, but which man would salt the clouds?


	5. Two Boys

Lois was leaning all the back in her chair; so far in fact that the tips of the toes on her right foot could barely reach the carpet. Her head was against the headrest and her eyes were closed as she mindlessly rocked in the chair, pushing off gently with her big toe every time it made contact with the floor. Back and forth for hours, her other leg numb and tucked under her, hands hanging limply off the armrests. She hadn't opened her eyes in so long that the faint glow of the sunrise out the window would soon come as a complete surprise.

There was a lone cricket chirping outside, loud enough to hear through the headphones, and Lois had timed her rocking so that the squeak of the chair was lost in the chirp of the cricket. She was mesmerized by it at this point, as the unique 'squee-reep' metronome kept perfect rhythm through the varying cadence of conversation filling her ears.

A long emptied mug of tea sat on her desk within her reach, next to the two tapes that she had listened to so far.

Superman's deep voice rolled through her and she relished when her own recorded voice, raised in quickened questioning, would pause for a long response. Backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards, rocking, synchronized, calming. Backwards and forwards…

"Can you determine the cause of this fire?" There were sirens, voices, water in the background, the microphone too cheap to record everything.

"It appears to be accidental. I saw the hottest and earliest burns around a kitchenette on the fourth floor. No sign of arson, or even faulty wiring, but a matter of carelessness. There are no reported fatalities, the resident will probably be questioned once he or she is located among the victims."

"What are you looking at?" She coughed. It had been a large fire.

"I am constantly x-raying the major support pillars, watching for buckling. I can alert the fire chief who can radio every man in, or in this case around the building, if something serious is about to happen."

"He's prevented five collapses already, and got word to our men in time for an additional three that were unavoidable. The crews are happy for his assistance, he's an entire company onto himself! We now spend less time in the buildings searching for victims or fighting the fire from within, as Superman can usually locate and evacuate victims, or at the very least let us know not to bother with certain areas. We continue to fight the fire from the outside, keep it from spreading to additional buildings, and then collaborate our efforts to extinguish the fire. It takes roughly a quarter of the time."

That was Glenn Baum, the Metropolis fire chief until six years ago. He was paralyzed in a car accident; Superman was very disturbed by it and to Lois' knowledge visited him and his family up until his disappearance. They were good friends.

"My breath can only work in only one direction at a time, and I am usually saving as many people as possible. I can't be everywhere at once; the fire department is still a force beyond all others in managing fires. Their expertise aids me, my powers and speed aid them…" He sounded distracted, but was still sure to give credit where credit was due. He never wanted to extinguish the faith humanity had to have in itself; what firefighter would bother if he felt he was eclipsed in his effectiveness…

"Remind me to get you that hat you wanted." Good-natured chuckling followed this. Lois smiled as she imagined Superman in a fire hat. Backwards and forwards…

"Baum to Reynolds, are we about set?"

"Roger that, we need to move these ambulances…" the logistics of that conversation moved away from the microphone.

"Thank you for your time, Superman."

"Thank you for being my voice, Ms. Lane."

Silence. She waited for the next interview.

'Wait. Silence?' came the fuzzy realization as Lois opened her eyes. The cricket had stopped chirping, and without realizing it, she had stopped rocking.

'Aw, shit,' thought Lois as she squinted at the sun. 'Damnit, what time is it?' and she slowly unfolded herself from the chair, touched down again, and fought the pain of pins and needles  _everywhere_. She took off the headphones, left everything including the mug on her desk, and hobbled up the stairs to her bedroom. Lois liked to drag her fingers along the wall as she went up the steps, bumps in the wallpaper making her wonder why paint wasn't good enough for the former residents (Richard's parents).

"Ugh!" she moaned as she flopped down, "Sleeeeep…" For, as she calculated after glancing at the clock, she had about an hour before Jason would be hopping on her bed, wanting gluten and dairy-free corn muffins and demanding that she take him up on her promise to go to the aquarium. She let her body relax and tried not to think about anything beyond the soft voices that had just left her mind.

Lois was just drifting into sleep, missing Superman's deep voice in her ear when—RING!

"No! Fuck you."

RING.

" _Fuck you_."

RING.

Fumble, fumble, grasp, crash, fumble, "What."

"Hey, did I wake you?"

"Yes. What."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you'd be awake by now, weren't you going to bring Jason to the zoo?"

'Why do people always take so long to state their intentions when they know they're  _bothering me?_ '

Lois waited in silence. Talking was too much effort. 'Maybe he'll just make his point, forty-five minutes is alright, that's fine, sleepy…'

"Lois? Did you stay up late?"

"No," she cleared her throat, this was going to have to be an actual conversation, "How can I help you?" The phone was balanced on her face, half her head pressed flat on the mattress.

"I just wanted to say hi and good morning."

"Okay. That's great, I really appreciate it, you're sweet, but ugh, I think I'm coming down with something, sleep necessary, g'night." Fumble, fumble, SLAM.

_The wind was in her hair, a firm body held her tight, 'Don't worry Ms. Lane, I won't drop you…' 'I'm always around…' 'As I watch I alert the fire chief…' 'Chief Baum is in the hospital, I was in China when it happened, I don't know what to do…'_

"MUFFINS!"

"Ugh. Oh hi baby, c'mere and nap with mommy…"

"I don't want to nap, I just woke up! Muffins!"

"Yes baby, okay, up, yes, muffins."

She opened her eyes. She was going to need her thermos today.

It was only a few horribly bleary minutes later that Lois was taking her emergency coffee thermos, the big one, out of the cabinet above the sink. She then sat waiting for the muffin halves to warm in the toaster and stared at the coffee maker to pray to the universe that she wouldn't look hung-over. She spread vegan margarine on the muffins, ("No, casein as an ingredient does not make this dairy free. It's not 'lactose intolerant,' it's a milk allergy, there's a difference… never mind! Vegan! Do you have anything that says 'vegan' on it?") and then actually bent her head sideways to inhale the scent of the coffee as it dripped into the carafe. With hot coffee almost burning her nose she tried to tap into whatever font of energy that once bubbled within her during all-nighters in days past.

Lois knew it would get easier once they got started, since Jason's enthusiasm was infectious, as it was meant to be from children to their parents, and she glanced over at him, sighing.

Because a promise is a promise.

* * *

The day was most certainly a blur, at least afterwards, but Lois managed to keep a few precious memories of this mother-son adventure amidst absolute fatigue:

They had waited outside the aquarium for it to open because it was  _that early_ , and then thankfully a day spent in the presence of a curious child wondering at the world and its various sea creatures made the time go much easier. Sneaking shots of coffee from her thermos when the guide wasn't looking, Lois pet sand sharks, 'oooh'ed at blowfish while they gave their unique version of the finger to the crowd, and even asked a sincerely curious question about seahorses at the end of the tour.

Lois and Jason giggled at the giant shark topiary and its wooden teeth while they ate overpriced sandwiches in the garden outside the Swordfish Café, had a water gun fight  _in_  the gift shop ("Ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to pay for your purchases now."), and had a 'Great White versus Hammerhead' hand-puppet battle (which Lois reluctantly let herself lose)… all before sneaking their way past the ticket taker and wandering through the halls and exhibits all over again, sans-guide.

Then there was the interminable drive home, when Lois had to discreetly slap herself before getting in the car, just to make sure she was still breathing.

So it was a content but tired mother-and-son-duo that made their way back to Riverside Drive through light traffic, and by the time they got home Jason was drooling on his seat belt, asleep.

She stared at him, a little bit of desperate imagination putting herself in his place, drool and all.

There was nothing for it: she was going to have to make this evening fast or she was going to be too miserable to be worth parenting.

Lois coaxed Jason into wakefulness and set about a precise evening of a little more fun (they played some video games together ("I'll get him a console, but it's only educational games until he's nine!"), a little more sleep (Jason finished his nap while Lois waited for the pizza guy, green with jealousy), food out on the patio ("I like besto!" "Pesto, baby, here, wipe that off. Say 'aquarium,' like I showed you." "Aquarium."), and real-sleep when Lois tucked him into bed ("But it's early!") right after the soy ice-cream.

Dishes off the table, napkins thrown away, takeout boxes in the garbage by the curb, slippers on the feet, and finally back in the living room Lois' eyes had finally started to really burn with the effort of staying awake all day on thirty minutes sleep. She was about to nose-dive onto the couch when she realized she didn't really have the luxury.

Frustrated, she glanced towards her office where she knew more guilty indulgences awaited her. She wanted to use her time alone to her greatest advantage, but was too damn tired to do it, and she was tired because that's what she had been doing to begin with.

It was a little annoying, really, because Lois had no time to pursue her own interests anymore, what with needing to not so much  _account for_  but at least let Richard know where she was / what she was doing most of the time. He would ask her what she was watching on TV, wonder at her latest article while she was wiping down the kitchen, poke his head into her office as she was typing because he was bored, wander out to the patio while she was reading, slide the glass door open when she was making a cell phone call on the balcony, and even follow her down to the basement when she went searching for wood screws.

None of this was malicious or the mark of a man controlling his woman, it was just the way people are when they live together. When they share responsibilities, a child, driving, laundry, shopping, and cooking duties. Lois knew that when she moved in, and it had not bothered her since, well, not  _really_. Until now.

Lois started playing with her engagement ring.

Never mind the fact that he worked at the  _Planet_. Granted he usually gave her space at work, but now she was feeling it more keenly. If Lois had known who Richard was, that they would be  _working together_ , when she...

Lois leaned against the couch and shook that thought free. Instead she went back to wondering about this trapped feeling. She had been experiencing it ever since she decided to listen to the Superman tapes, but had to wait until Richard left for the conference. It  _was_  a  _guilty_  pleasure, something she felt she needed to hide, so it was unfair to suddenly feel so hemmed in when really it was probably just the unease of indulging in a forbidden fruit that had her edgy to begin with.

But that started another thought cycle: why  _shouldn't_  she listen to these tapes, why  _did_  she need to explain it to Richard? Should she have just done it with him home? The more she explored her motives in the days leading up to the conference, the clearer these answers became.

So, now she spent her commute relishing the feeling of being alone in the car and thinking of ways to add some privacy to her life. She began to suggest Richard go flying more and renew his gym membership; she took her lunch out of the office more often using errands as excuses, and even used Clark as an excuse for not coming back.

Unjustified or no, she was fighting the idea of needing to hide. She was fighting it as part of a larger battle that had started back when she had decided to move in. The reason she sent up her white flag was sleeping under jungle-themed sheets upstairs, but those reasons weren't enough now. The boy upstairs wasn't Richard's anymore, at least not entirely, and she needed to know who his father really was, and  _Jason_  needed him more than anyone! To explain and understand his powers, to help him in the difficult life his heritage would rest on his small shoulders.

If she had given up so much then, she would have to deceive Richard now. This was the realization she had slowly come to as Richard packed his bag for Washington. Granted, this 'sacrifice' also had a distinctly selfish twist. Yes. Well.

Lois moved around the couch and sat down, resting her head in her hands and listening to the dishwasher whirring in the otherwise silent house. To justify exploring her relationship with Superman as the pursuit of a father for Jason was airtight in the skewed logic of a frantic mother, but she knew there was so much more she would rediscover in the process, and that's what made her fatigued mind pause.

Lois sat back. She was too tired for this. She kicked off her house shoes and started to lay down, deciding to nap for an hour or so, digging in her pocket for her cell phone and falling back into the cushions.

_Images, flashes of a helicopter, the Daily Planet roof, 'I've got you miss…' Reliving the moments that her recorder had captured in mono, years ago, the sights behind the sounds, his voice leaving his lips instead of a speaker... the newness, the incredulity…flashes, bits, feelings, shock._

"Is there anything you would like to say to the citizens of Metropolis before we begin? You've never spoken freely with the press and they write your headlines for you." A young reporter, nervous to be faced with the daunting task of interviewing the first alien to live among humanity, the names of famous journalists and groundbreaking interviews coursing through her head, the expression on the face of the  _thingmanperson_  in front of her, nervous as well…

"Well, I thank you for that opportunity. There is something I would like to say directly to the citizens of not only Metropolis, but the world." Pause. "I am a visitor to your planet, but I value human life as much as anyone among you. The headlines you mentioned hail me a 'savior' or a 'hero,' but I see myself as just another concerned man among humanity, only with powers and the ability to help beyond that of a normal person. I do not wish to rule, to conquer, or to save in any higher sense than to prevent a murder or a fatal fall," a pause, probably with a smile directed across the balcony, "and I count my blessings for the gifts I have here on your planet. If the population of the world will accept me as an aid to them in their lives, I will consider myself fortunate."

Many questions, only basic at first…

"I am the lone survivor of a planet known to its own people as Krypton, with a 'K'… my powers are the result of the differences in the electromagnetic spectrum under a Yellow Dwarf… a message left to me by my parents… many light years… I cannot disclose where I landed… I can do more than fly, my powers include… I do consider myself an American, but feel those lines are best left undrawn… blue and red, obviously," chuckle, "mint  _cookie_ , not chocolate chip, they get stuck in your teeth… I was afraid of heights, actually, but now my only fear is apathy… how much do you  _think_  I weigh…"

Their time was short, Lois did not want to push it, and she couldn't have asked for more. She never expected a second interview, never mind a budding friendship…

"Would you like to see?" His voice was playful, Lois took a step back.

"You… you mean fly with you? Up  _there_?" she waved her hand towards the heavens. "Um…"

He took a step closer and held out his hand, "Don't worry, Ms. Lane, I won't drop you, and even if I did I could just scoop you up again."

All she had been doing was taking a cigarette break on the roof. He must have spotted her and decided to play a trick because the next thing she knew she was in a freezing breeze under the June sun. After getting both her attention and a small yelp, he had landed and told her there was a Tall Ship in the harbor.

Lois failed to see what was so special about that, but she took a step forward and slid her hand into his; he was so warm! She tucked the recorder into her shirt and under her bra strap for stability, microphone angled out. There was no way she was missing this.

"Here, I usually fly parallel to the ground, but we'll try this," and like a nervous boy at prom he tried to arrange their bodies together so that they could hold each other, as if in dance, face to face. It was the first of a thousand times that she watched him blush, and while she appreciated the proximity to a fine specimen like any worldly woman, the fact that he blushed sent  _her_  blushing for the first time in years. He told her to stand on his toes. Their bodies came flush, she blushed more and was distracted enough by that to forget that she was about to float over Metropolis the twenty-something blocks it took to get to the harbor from the  _Planet_. She remembered two seconds later.

"Ahhhhh! Shit! No way, put me down! Shit shit!"

"Hold on, come, trust me."

And  _that_  was the first time any human knew the power of Superman's voice, whether hardened in command, sharp in anger, or soft in thought. Lois looked up into his face, the recorder starting to record the fuzz of rushing wind as Superman began to accelerate.

She was happy her interviews never went public because the hypnotized, love-struck, "Okay…" would have been ripe for blackmail.

Lois remembered staring in disbelief at the city below, squinting against the afternoon sun reflecting off windows, catching glimpses of flabbergasted people spotting her in the arms of the world's most wondered-at resident. She took a deep breath and looked straight down, which was such a shock of perspective that Lois shifted in Superman's arms, her feet slipped off his boots, and two squared-heeled bargains started their plummet towards the streets below.

"Oh! Those could kill someone!"

Superman chuckled in her ear and moved his head quickly to peer down past her shoulder, his eyes taking on a red hue. "No, one landed on a roof and the other," Beat. "Well, the other just went through the rear window of a parked car." There was laughter in his voice.

Lois snickered, "Maybe I should drop my insurance policy number through the windshield." He chuckled again. Good, the ice was broken.

"Your eyes, they just glowed red..."

"Mmm? Ah, I was going to vaporize them should either of them, eh, attempt to kill someone. I suppose my eyes glow when I 'access' my heat vision." The laughter was still there, full force. Lois had the distinct impression she  _amused him_  in a general sense, all the time. She also got the impression that he was very unused to speaking about his powers, like the terminology and external effects were as new to him as it they were to the world. He was articulating all of himself for the first time. Lois checked on the tape recorder.

"Ready for more?"

"More?" A nervous squeak.

And pressing her a little closer, Superman began to ascend and accelerate; Lois reveled in the sensation, sound no replacement for the memories of flying free through the air without enclosure or the whir of engines. Lois' fingers began to register the strange feel of the fabric she was gripping, her ears opened as the sounds of traffic and city life faded away, her lungs took in the fresh air above the smog.

In no other way could flying be so personal, so fantastic. It was better than defying gravity with technology, she was defying it simply through the power of this extraordinary being, simply by holding onto him. Interview forgotten, the harbor fast approaching, a mast towering high above the water, boyish glee in the eyes of the most powerful living creature on this side of the galaxy. Lois watched him tip his head back into the sun, close his eyes, and watched his face open in joy at the wavelengths of light filtering through his skin.

The wonder of it all.

 _"Would you like to see?" "I am the last of my kind, an orphan to a doomed world..."_   _"Look, mommy, ships!"_ _"Sam at the Metropolis Star called and said he saw you floating past his window!" "I want a fire hat! Can I get one?"  
_

Lois woke with a start. Her alarm was beeping. She groaned and sat up, hitting the damn button as fast as she could. The house was silent, the dishwasher finished. Lois looked around and put a hand to her mussed hair. The dream hovered on the edge of her mind and she reached out for it. Luckily she was able to grasp hold of it before it faded back into the ether.

Their first flight.

She sighed, suddenly feeling more like a girl than the younger Lois had felt like a woman. She was overwhelmed with a sudden sense of agelessness, the kind she used to see in Superman's face when they first met. She contemplated this for a few minutes and glanced out the bay window, hoping beyond reason to see a Tall Ship.

'I need to water that plant.' Her rare, hybridized violet stared back at her from the windowsill, begging for specially fertilized water.

After attending to the violet, shutting all the lights and checking the locked doors, Lois made her way upstairs, straightened the picture on the landing that tilted every time Jason bounded down the stairs, and quietly turned the knob to Jason's room. She felt suddenly drawn there, like she had in the early days of her motherhood, standing crib-side and wondering at the life form that had escaped her body. Lois leaned against the doorframe, gazing quietly at the silent form as it took deep breaths in repose.

'Will you fly one day? Are you half-human, or half...' She paused in the thought. So rarely did Lois think of him as "Kryptonian" or "alien." At first, it was all she could see: the powers, the inhuman glow to his eyes in the moonlight, the way tilting his head towards the light rejuvenated him instantly. But that sense of otherness had faded long ago.

'You're both ageless. At least to me.' Jason's presence in her life had brought that sense of youth back into the mundane, the way he looked at things reminded her of the way Superman did, and vice versa. Two boys.

Her gaze moved to the window, half hoping to see him there watching them. 'You're no longer alone, no longer singular in the universe. Does it mean as much to you as I think it does? Does it help you to know that the search for your kind  _did_  end in your finding it? Does he give you as much hope as he gives me?'

Lois made her way to the window and stared out across the sky towards the bay. She watched the gentle rise and fall of the water, remembered full sails and wet rope. 'I do need to do this. I need to find us again. And I'll find a way. More late night time at the  _Planet_ , or an assignment out of the office.' She looked down at her phone, still in her hand, to check the time. 11:32. Two missed calls from Richard.

She turned and padded quietly out of the room, set her alarm while she walked down the hallway, slipped off her clothes and crawled into bed. She couldn't listen tonight, she was far too tired. But she'd find a way tomorrow, and the day after that, and beyond Richard's return to the city. The smell of salt air was still fresh in her nostrils, the memories returning full force. Lois closed her eyes.

_"I've always loved ships. Look, at the topsail; can you imagine anything more thrilling?"_

Lois turned to look at him in absolute disbelief. A man who could drop her, circle the globe, and catch her before she reached the water thought  _sailing_  was the most thrilling thing. But as Lois looked at him and wrapped her mind around the reality of the situation she was in, the interviews she was getting, the friendship that she could feel forming and the desire that still lingered somewhere back in their mutual blush, she thought, 'Yes, I can think of something.'

Superman blew gently towards the ship; the captain had to grab something as he fell backwards with the sudden momentum in his sails, and she felt a chuckle in her ear.


	6. Pastime

Every time Clark purchased new shoes he needed a friction factor adjustment period, or in other words, that span of time it takes you to make sure you don't fall down in the rain because you're not used to your new shoes. And since he was only in the beginning of such a cycle, Clark was  _expecting_  to slide when he entered the elevator after the near-run to catch Lois. But these new shoes had more traction than his old ones, and thus Clark came up short on his pre-cogitated slide and more just sort of tipped up onto the balls of his feet, midair. This sudden, odd movement took place just as the elevator doors closed, eclipsing the SMACK that was Clark awkwardly falling into the back wall of the cabin, arms out and palms up.

He thought he must have looked like a startled antelope trying not to follow his fellows off a cliff at a full run. Lois, who was absorbed in her phone, didn't even bother to look up as she snorted with laughter.

Clark sighed, put his feet back under him where they belonged, and found it hard not to smile at Lois' laughter even while the tug of embarrassment near his stomach made him start to blush. He pushed his glasses up his nose and tried to regain a hold on his dignity by checking his pockets for essentials, since it was obviously decided that they were leaving the office. His mind drifted back to this heated Henderson story that Lois was all roiled up about. He didn't expect her to speak, and so he watched the numbers flick by as they descended in silence.

But Lois did speak, with laughter in her voice, a fond tone that adds affection to any sentence, "Oh Clark, I  _missed_  you."

And there it was. After three months and many heartless moments, Lois Lane showed the first glimmer of careworn friendship that Clark dared hope still existed. He turned to look out at her through his thick glasses and the pain of life eased out his toes, excitement rushing to his voice at this rare, heartfelt comment from the ice pick that was Lois Lane.

He made the conscious decision not to brush this moment aside. "I missed you too, Lois. I thought of you a few times, wondered what you would say to some of the things I saw." Like gaseous nebulae forty light-years in diameter. The remnants of supernovae.

He paused, smiling at her. The elevator 'DING'-ed at the lobby. Lois smiled back, and the moment settled nicely between them.

Lois started forward with the same determination that she had left the Bullpen with and clicked her way across the highly polished floors, careful to smirk at Clark as she passed him. Clark followed, the sudden entrance into the lobby from a quiet space pulling his hearing out too far: he could even hear heartbeats in the room. He pulled his hearing in almost subconsciously, but very consciously made sure to twist the toe of his shoe against the floor, testing.

He was fully anticipating a rush to her car in order to stake out the warehouse this instant, so he was taken off guard by her next statement.

"What say we go have a nice long lunch, Clark? You know, the kind that ends with iced coffee and a cookie instead of you still chewing while you pay the bill."

"Um, okay." Beat. "Where would you like to go?"

"Casino on 34th?"

"They have terrible egg salad."

"Screw the egg salad, Clark. Everything else is delicious.  _Egg salad?_  I said lunch, not a sandwich at recess."

"Yes, egg salad. Lunch. With lemonade. But Casino uses salad dressing instead of mayonnaise, why would they think-"

"We're going to Casino, Clark. I was only being polite."

"But you just told me to, well,  _you know_ , my egg salad!" Clark was indignant. He pulled his hearing back again as the roar of the city replaced the din of the lobby.

"Shut up, Clark. Lemonade with mayonnaise? That's disgusting."

"Salad dressing!"

They bickered the five blocks to Casino Diner, usually with Clark having to retaliate over Lois' shoulder since the tide of sidewalk traffic had them walking single-file. A random stranger's call of "Fuck yeah!" answered one of Clark's more vocal assertions about his mother's cooking, and Clark found himself irritated that Lois didn't need to raise her voice since he could hear her every sound. He x-rayed the diner over his glasses as they approached from across the block, and was disappointed that there were a few open booths. Lois looked smugly over at Clark when they shuffled into a vinyl booth and Lois kicked the table support by accident.

"Told you there wouldn't be a crowd."

Clark sighed. He started to move the condiments, sugar bowl, salt and pepper, and dessert menu under the clever 'look! it looks like a slot machine because it's a theme!' jukebox while Lois opened the menu. A waitress sauntered over.

"Good morning, can I get you two something to drink?"

"Lemonade, please." Clark ignored Lois.

"Coffee, as dark as you have it."

The waitress smiled and walked away just as Clark opened his mouth to speak and a ring tone came from his jacket pocket instead. He sighed again and made to move out of the booth, looked down at his phone while he muted the ring and tossed over his shoulder, "Egg salad on toasted whole wheat, Lois? 'Yes, please' to a pickle and coleslaw." He hurried away distractedly. He had been expecting this call and wanted to take it.

She nodded and answered, "You've got it, Smallville," as her eyes sought out the salad bar and a finger held her place in the laminated lunch specials.

Clark held open the glass door for an older woman before hurrying on the sidewalk and hitting 'answer' before the phone got to his ear. He knew it was his landlord with an update about the recent flooding in the basement.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Clark."

A pipe had burst above the tenant storage rooms in the building's sub-basement, and while Clark wasn't as upset as the rest of the people he saw charging the superintendent's office the next day, he did have pictures of himself as a teenager in one of the affected boxes. It had been awhile since anyone had heard from the freeze-drying company, and Clark was starting to get nervous that they would look inside.

Clark walked in a circle on the sidewalk as Max updated him, narrowly avoiding pedestrians and staring at a vendor's street cart on the corner. As he looked around he was reminded of the immediate days and weeks following Superman's reappearance. An entire artistic culture had flourished on cars, in windows, and under the overpasses of Metropolis. Many renditions of "WELCOME BACK, SUPERMAN!' screamed in vivid red and blue wherever anyone looked. Vendors eventually got orders in to various companies and a plethora of hats, t-shirts, bumper stickers, and little lapel pins donned everything that moved. Clark was initially shocked and pleasantly surprised by this outpouring, but soon lost faith as the dollars rolled in, the stickers peeled and the general mood shifted back to the blank blur of reality. Clark did still smile at the random, sun-faded child's drawing of him in an apartment window, but he cringed now at the scratched 'Superman Rules!' snow globe as he was jostled about between early lunch-comers. The 'Go Back Where you Came From!' snow globe made the evil-eye at him from next to its counterpart.

The boxes were back and his were still taped shut. He closed his eyes, relieved.

"I'm glad, thanks for telling me. Great. Yes, I've got food coming, alright thanks again, okay, you too."

Clark hit End and slipped the phone back in his pocket. He sighed as he re-climbed the steps, taken off-guard by another of the tiny close-calls that he often feared would be the end of him. He'd always had a feeling it was going to come down to something tiny, one weird moment that linked Clark Kent to Superman, and not some large, cosmic event. He had learned to fear the small things.

His hearing spread out around him in the relative quiet and familiar sounding diner when he stepped back in the door. Into the dusty corners and under the counters, his sense filled the room like a rolling wave. Dishes being washed in the back, a busboy clearing a table, and as he approached their table Clark found that the loud 'clink! clink! clink!' he'd been hearing was Lois.

"What are you doing, Lois?"

Her nose was in what was obviously a brand-new paperback of  _Murder on the Orient Express_  and she was smashing a saucer full of sliced hard-boiled eggs with her fork. There was a plate of salad in front of her, a little basket of bread, her coffee cup sans saucer, and some packets of mayo.

"Nothing."

Clark sat down gingerly, trying not to kick the table, just as the waitress swept out of the ether and slid a plate of whole wheat toast towards Lois and a little cup full of coleslaw with a pickle on top towards Clark. His lemonade was already on the table.

"Enjoy."

Lois kept mashing a few seconds more then put the book down into her purse and started opening packets with her teeth. A little bit of mayo on her right index finger later, some salt and pepper, a lot more 'clink!-ing' and Clark was eating an egg salad sandwich on toasted whole wheat... with mayonnaise.

He stared at her, swelling almost literally with both affection and bemusement.

"Lois."

"Yes, Clark."

"You put up a fight to come here to get  _salad_?"

"Mmmhmm. They have sprouts!" She held up her fork. "Betty's doesn't have sprouts. Or this great vinaigrette. Or, " she pointed with her fork and took a bite of bread, "Hard-boiled eggs."

Clark took a sip of his lemonade.

"You're reading one of my favorite books."

"Really? Well, good, we can talk about it."

"What made you...?"

"Just in the mood for a mystery," she said quickly, spearing spinach onto her fork.

Clark's mind paused on what was an obvious lie, and he scanned Lois over the top of his glasses.

Lois Lane does not read mysteries, she finds and solves them. Clark took a bite, and thought about that while he chewed. Lois was reading his comfort book, a story he'd read so many times since childhood that it had become one of his favorites, even while his intellectual tastes tended towards more serious literature. She had obviously just bought it, since the bag from the bookstore was still sticking out of her purse. It could have just been a coincidence, it was hardly an obscure book.

Except that she covered for it, and Clark knew her better than he knew himself. He swallowed, and noted it for later.

"Hey Clark?"

"Mmmm?" Mmmm, egg salad.

"Tell me about baseball."

He stopped chewing, staring at her.

"What?"

"Baseball. Go on." Lois waved her hand.

She looked playful rather than mocking, and her voice was certainly honest enough, but Clark had long ago come to expect that whenever Lois went Random that she was thinking really, really hard about something. And this was definitely random. Lois hated sports.

"I thought you did not care much for sports?" Pickle. "Something along the lines of 'mass mentality and its role in human downfall.'"

"I just don't understand the devotion. There's an almost religious fervor over teams, games really, that mean  _nothing_. Nothing is really being accomplished, millions of dollars go to a pursuit that fails to leave any indelible mark on human society. But I don't care, really. Either way." She cleared her throat looking wary of herself and sipped some coffee. "Yet almost all the men I know love at least one sport, usually baseball," a sweeping gesture with her fork, "Broadminded, intelligent and humanistic people. Why?"

Dishes clanked and someone made that desperate sucking sound with a straw for the last bit of diluted cola. Clark wondered at her from across the table and contemplated the answer to what was obviously an important question to Lois.

"Have you ever  _been_  to a baseball game?"

Pause. Lois met his gaze and then looked down, already defeated. She sighed a long-suffering sigh on her next words, "No, I haven't. That makes all the difference, right?"

"Probably."

"Fine." Lois took a dramatic pause. "Take me to a baseball game. Right now."

"What?" Clark's voice was sensible, "Lois, it's a weekday, we're supposed to be hunting down Henderson and I was expecting two years worth of story notes and you to go racing-"

"We'll take the day off, finish your sandwich. I must understand this."

"Understand what? We don't even know if there's a game!" He shook his head at her look, "I don't watch them everyday, I have no time in the evenings, believe me."

"Damn. Hold on, wait," and Lois rifled in her bag while Clark looked on. She picked out her phone and hit a number on speed dial.

Beat.

Beat.

Clark sipped his lemonade.

"Chief, is there a game today? Yes, a  _baseball game_. What time? Ha ha! Thanks!" She snapped the phone shut and picked her fork back up, "Starts at 3:15. Do you want dessert?"

* * *

Lois and Clark left the diner at 12:30 after a very long lunch, and made their way back to the  _Planet_  building. Clark opened his hearing and took a deep breath in the noontime sunlight. He opened his palms to the sky and soaked in for a moment before resuming a normal stride. This, if anything, would be an interesting day. As they got nearer the building though, Lois piped up.

"I don't want to go back up," she gestured at the skyscraper to which they were headed. "What else can we do?"

"Um, Henderson?"

"No. Something else."

"McMillan – Gross?"

"No!"

"Want to help me bring paint to my apartment?"

Clark had not meant for Lois to take this seriously; he would never ask Lois for anything, what with the guilt factor through the roof lately. But the next thing he knew he was directing her through mid-day traffic towards the home repair store of his choice. Superman might be able to stem the tide of mighty rivers, but it is a pain to get five gallons of paint uptown by yourself, even in a cab. And he could hardly fly to his apartment with cans hanging off his feet. Lois was fiddling with her satellite radio the whole way and blew the horn more than Clark felt was necessary.

"Meet you at the register. I need a three-way fluorescent bulb, a new toilet seat, a nightlight, and 800 sandpaper." And Lois was gone in a flash of brown hair. The sudden lack of her strong presence in this unexpected day left Clark winded at the paint counter. He watched her depart and wondered how often people need to replace toilet seats.

* * *

"That's a lot of paint."

"I know," Clark sighed as he bent down a third time to pick up the last gallon. "How much time do we have?"

"Where do you live now?" She was already climbing into the driver's seat.

"88th and Westmore."

"Well then hurry the hell up!"

* * *

"And  _how_ , pray-tell, can you afford this?" Lois was walking around his sparse, still partially packed living room and Clark was getting a little punch-drunk in a good mood. He found the sight of her in his home very alien.

"You remember Max Rebellet?" he watched her stare up at the high ceilings and run her fingers along one wall.

"Yes," Lois hissed, obviously searching her memory. "Informant on the South Side Strangler..."

"I kept him anonymous in the weeks after the arrest and he managed to give his testimony without too much fuss. He said he owed me a favor. Being the owner of ten buildings in Metropolis he promised me a nice apartment for half the normal rent. For life. Or until he sells the building in question."

"Ha! Nice."

"I didn't want to take the offer, but I have to at this point." Clark was moving paint and primer into different rooms. He had closed his bedroom door the second they walked in, preventing a glimpse into the only room that he dared let be a mix of Superman and Clark. He had a feeling there was a suit laying out somewhere. Lois had gone through the kitchen, past his 'office' and into the living room / dining room with painter's tape all up and down the walls.

"Stripes?"

"Yes, believe it or not. Come back when it's done, it's not as crazy as it looks." He paused, hoping silence would remind her that they were late.

"Where's your ladder? That's way too high to-"

"It's 2:30."

* * *

"You're kidding."

"Well, unfortunately tickets prices  _have_  gotten ridiculous." Clark looked shyly at the woman beyond the box office glass, offering a mute apology.

"Oh, never mind. Here," Lois turned her head back to the box office window, "Two for whatever you called that section."

"Lois, please don't buy my-"

"Shut up, Clark. Lead the way." Lois waved her hand again and Clark once more obeyed. He turned to gaze up at the entrance to the stadium and suddenly missed home and Royals Stadium. As unrelated memories rushed over him, the two of them waited in line through the entrance, handed over their tickets, and walked through the turn-style. Lois gave an exaggerated swivel of her hips in order to made sure her purse didn't get stuck. They moved into the cool interior and away from the sun; Clark was grinning ear-to-ear at the familiar maze-like passageway into which they were corralled and Lois was simply looking around.

"Mmm, smells like beer. Let's get beer, oh shit, soft pretzels! Good, pretzels and beer. I feel American already."

Clark had tried to explain his complicated thoughts about baseball and being an American to a cynical Lois on the drive over. He also attempted to discuss the workings of the game itself, which was rather short lived. He took a different track while juggling a hot dog, beer, relish packets, his wallet, and his ticket stub on the walk away from the food vendor.

"A player named Dock Ellis once pitched a no-hitter on LSD." One way to keep Lois' attention was with weird, random facts, especially about people doing inappropriately crazy or illegal things.

"Oh that  _is_  fun. Good. Is this where we-" Lois stopped dead at the sight of the interior view of the stadium once they turned the corner towards the stands. Clark watched her take in the scene, the sweeping semi-circle of the raised decks on either side of them, the bleachers out behind center field. After stepping out next to her and gazing down at her face, suddenly the hot, glorious sun shining down from a clear sky took Clark off guard and he felt very light in his new shoes.

Clark froze as an odd sensation swept over his body. The bottom of his feet had raised away from the soles, that's how slight the levitation was, but a split second later Clark slammed down that half a centimeter as if falling from 30 stories.

'That was odd.'

"Which way?"

"Up and... uh, left. There, by the cotton candy guy."

'Great, five years passed for the degrading Ozone Layer, too.' Clark looked over his shoulder and directly at the sun. 'Maybe I should wear sunscreen?'

Clark kept track of the row numbers as they ascended and then sat next to Lois in Row 23. She stared around the park with wide eyes and frank interest and took a sip of beer. Clark went about shuffling the many ingredients for a baseball game around in his lap and tried not to spill or drop anything. Lois stared out at the field and failed to offer any assistance.

"It's both smaller and bigger than I thought it would be. And greener. And it feels so airy, that's nice." Lois cocked her head as she watched batting practice and Clark heard her voice change slightly, "I have a thing for wide open spaces, don't I?"

'Yes, you do.' He answered in his head.

"I guess, Lois. Here," change the subject, "I'll show you how to score the game in the program." And be promptly dropped the relish packets and accidentally tipped his wallet onto his hot dog. Being a rather tall man he sort of slid sideways and under the next row to retrieve his pickled delight. Lois snickered at him and waved a napkin at his wallet.

Just then a voice boomed across the stadium and Lois looked at the field expectantly, "Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to Metropolis Savings and Loan Field."

Lois laughed. At least five people looked around at her.

* * *

The sun was strong, the beer was watery but forced into his hand by Lois, and the atmosphere was jovial. After lamenting the modern day of sponsorship and after Lois made a face at him when the players came out to the most bombastic jock jam the stadium could find that morning, the mood shifted to simple enjoyment rather than cynical commentary.

The intrepid reporter duo sat back, and Clark stooped a little in his seat in order to talk to Lois without annoying the fans closest to them as they debated the game, the score, that last play, and Clark's choice of condiments.

"Who puts ketchup on a hot dog? I'm never going to Kansas." She reached out and plucked some sauerkraut off his hot dog without invitation.

Clark's smile was so fixed for the first couple of innings that, had he the ability to feel it, his cheeks would have been sore. A light breeze blew familiar scents towards his nose, he listened out into the stands for the various calls for peanuts, the boo's at opposing players, the creak of the leather as the catcher stretched open his glove for the next pitch. Clark took it all in like a twelve year old and kept pointing things out to Lois; she said he was practically bouncing.

Time wore on, fans stood for home runs, Lois came back to their seats followed by a young man, who Clark realized was Lois' personal beer boy ("Those are for him, with the glasses.") and Clark received beers number five and six.

Soon Lois was giggling at the bad-mouthed woman two rows in front of them and was herself yelling at the closest umpire. Both their suit jackets lay defeated on the back of their seats; Clark let his attention wander as he gazed at Lois, unseeing, while rubbing the condensation from his beer on his forehead to make it look like he was sweating.

"You're Lois Lane!"

"Yes, I am." Lois turned warily to regard the fan who had just shouted from behind her. Clark watched her twist in her seat.

"You're not here to scrape up more lies about Mantleban, are ya? Because that shit you printed last year was pure lies!" Ire was rising against poor Lois. Clark was still thinking and a little drunk. The next few minutes were hard to wrap his mind around, even two days later as he thought back on them.

All he could really remember was watching Lois and thinking, 'You're so beautiful. What are we doing here?'

"Clark,  _what_  is this guy talking about?" Her voice didn't cut through his thoughts right away, she looked puzzled at the accusations coming her way.

'It hurts so much to live like this.'

"Clark?"

'It's really bright out here...'

"CLARK! What the  _hell_?"

He could see her, he could feel the cold beer in his hand... but he could not hear her.

Clark had pulled his senses so far in that he couldn't hear anything except his own thoughts; a personal silence in the middle of a cheering baseball stadium. As soon as he realized, his hearing mushroomed out like a bomb and the full impact of 35,000 muttering, talking, cheering, and jeering voices slammed into him at once.

He gasped in overload.

It must have seemed like he just spotted her hand waving in front of his face for the last ten seconds.

"And  _he's_  NUTS! What is he, your photographer? Listen, you press better leave Manty alone, you lying scum-"

"Listen idiot, we came here to watch the game, you don't see a fucking pen and pad do you? Shut up! I'm trying to skip work and understand America here, asshole!" Lois whipped back to Clark and actually reached out to grab his chin, a little concerned, "Clark."

"Yes, Lois, I'm sorry, woo! Must have drifted off there in the sun. Little woozy, beer!" and he authentically sloshed some beer on himself as he held up the cup.

"Wow." She snorted at him, "Wow, Clark. You're fucked up!"

"Lois! No, just 'messed up!' I'm 'messed up.'"

Lois snorted even harder and gave the finger to the nosy fan two rows back who was still cat-calling her. "You're messed up, Clark."

"Lois. WHY are we drunk at a baseball game on a Tuesday?"

" _You're_  drunk. I am not drunk. You're a lightweight, Smallville."

He paused. Lois didn't.

"You were right, this is fun!" She waved towards the crowd, neither of them knew the score. They both turned to regard the scoreboard. "It's like a giant picnic. People walk around to  _throw_  food at you, all the kids have these cute little gloves and jerseys that make me want to cry-" Clark was suddenly floored by the fact that Lois was the mother of his child. "- and things just meander on and everyone starts talking about nothing. And there's beer!"

"Why am  _I_  drunk at a baseball game on a Tuesday?"

"I told you. I want to understand," she paused and looked straight at him, considering him like a child wondering whether they should tell a secret. She decided in his favor. She finished with, "Someone."

Clark was still reeling from whatever had just happened to him. She sighed and looked out across the diamond, people were cursing, the count was 3-2, two outs, runners on the corners. "I think I get it now, though, thank you." She gulped more beer and started rubbing the salt off her second pretzel with her other hand. She looked back, waiting (he guessed) for judgment.

Clark's brain kicked in at that secretive look. He didn't know which emotion to let consume him first: utter shock that Lois remembered, and then acted on, what he just  _knew_  was the fact that Superman, _him, he_  liked baseball (Clark's brain went a little fuzzy in this direction) OR soaring happiness that the lesser of his two personas should be once again back in Lois' confidence. He liked it when she confided in him. He knew even without being around for the last five years that Lois didn't mention Superman  _ever_ , to  _anyone_ , for  _any_  reason.

And well, she still hadn't, but she had.

He thought.

Clark stared. He drunkenly wondered what his reaction should be.

Someone hit a long ball to center and half the stadium stood up, yelling all around them. Clark thanked number twenty-seven (whoever he was and for whichever team) for the interruption, and smiled at Lois offering a 'you're welcome' for something he didn't even remember doing. With the situation suddenly spinning out of his control Clark then promptly tried to reign in his sobriety for the rest of the inning.

* * *

With beer still in hand, Lois had ended up leading them to the gift shop half an hour later, after having partaken in the 7th Inning Stretch and tripping down the shallow steps down to the exit. Clark was in the corner next to a rather corpulent man, both regarding a little boy sized uniform and getting a little sullen.

"You're pouting, drunky."

"I just think this is cute."

"Ever fathered any children, Clark?"

Clark was suddenly uncomfortably aware of the number of people around him, also bored and stiff from the game, who chose to meander. He blushed and glanced at the man, who looked, Clark realized in a moment of hilarity, just as disturbed as Clark by the question.

"Lois!" All innocent embarrassment. Really. The man frowned and moved away, also pouting.

Lois laughed and walked away. She was definitely drunk now. Clark was as amused by this as always.

"I think I'll get this for Jason's birthday, if you don't mind."

She answered from over by the caps, giving a rude look to a bright pink, sequined one on a display stand. "Sure Clark that would be nice. He'll love it. Two weeks." She held up two fingers unnecessarily.

"Yeah. I know." He sighed quietly.

"Listen you, come on, they've got frozen fruit bars!"

By the time Clark finished sucking on his fruit bar he had made his way out of his funk and was back to enjoying the game in Row 23. The visitors failed to tie in the top of the 9th and the home team won 7-4. Clark was pleased to note that Lois cheered with real enthusiasm as they were bade goodbye by the PA system. He tripped down the last three shallow steps and nearly killed a security guard on their way out.

* * *

Judging by the looks she was getting as Lois hopped up and down on the curb trying to hail a taxi, the effects of a long afternoon eating, drinking, and sweating in the sun had had its toll. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun, her shirt unbuttoned so far that Clark was constantly trying not to x-ray the rest of her, and she was holding both her shoes in her left hand while waving the right.

"TAXI! DAMN YOU!"

"Ah! Lois, calm down, here, I'll get a taxi..."

* * *

"I see no positive impact on society because of a bunch of nostalgic 30-somethings. Baseball reminding the world of happy childhoods spent on sun-drenched pastures is not an indelible mark on human history."

The taxi sat in rush hour traffic, back to the  _Planet_  because Lois needed someone to get her car for her. And because her phone went dead. The driver must have known they were drunk at this point.

"Look around, I'd rather have nostalgia than almost any of the prevalent emotions in society. What's wrong with looking back to simpler times, it can aid in putting the current in perspective, don't you think?" Beat. "Maybe we should all remember to worry a little less." He spoke this last more quietly, as if only to himself.

"Fine. But is that worth millions of dollars and endless brainpower from rabid fans?"

"You know, now you've gone and ruined my childhood." Clark was probably pouting again. Lois giggled.

"You're messed up, okay there Clark?  _Wasted._  The sun really got to you, didn't it?"

"Apparently."

* * *

" _A baseball game?!_ " Richard was flabbergasted. As was Perry, although he was probably more angry really, and Jimmy was torn between amused and frightened. Clark looked around the early-evening Bullpen. More people stayed later in the summer as in-house daycare stayed open until seven. You learn these kinds of details when your secret identity is the father of the Bullpen child of another couple. Faces were turned in their direction.

"Yes, and NOT drunk, thank you, and now I'm back and planning to spend the evening researching the Henderson case. Starting, oh say, with showing Clark four months worth of relevant clippings from downstairs."

Lois turned to regard Clark, swinging her pointed shoes out in an arch with her finger, as she was still barefoot and frazzled looking. "What say you, Smallville?"

Clark had no idea how he looked, but it was probably better than Lois. He was sober now, but still a little dazed by the day. He started grinning before he could stop himself, even though he meant to answer her seriously, because one of her shoes had flown off her finger and hit the water cooler reservoir with a resounding 'CLUNG!'

Lois burst out laughing, doubled over, and hopelessly intoxicated for the moment.

Every one else looked on, stupefied. Richard openly glared at Clark for about four seconds as if this was all his fault. But, eventually, everyone sat down and resumed their work. Lois combed her hair with her fingers and really did start to review Clark on the story. He, meanwhile, tried to diffuse the haze left on him from his earlier hilarity and drifted back into reality with her. Richard had paced back and forth awhile, listening to them, before retiring to his office for the rest of the evening.

* * *

Clark had just gotten up to get some water when Perry and Richard came out of their respective offices at the same time. After saying goodnight to him and Lois, the pair stood waiting by the elevator for it to rise twenty-five floors.

"So  _what_  is so essential to your citizenship?" came Lois' voice as he sat back down next to her in his chair, taken from his own desk so that they could look over her material.

This question rang out in the silence, even though she had said it in a low tone. The Whites listened at this non sequitur.

"Lois, for whatever it's worth and I know it's not worth much, there is nothing -  _nothing_  - more American than the 'Y.M.C.A.'"


	7. In the Field

Re: Re: Favour

Better just hand it to me.

-L

On 7/29,  **James Olsen**  wrote:  
Sure Lois. Plain envelope in your inbox by the end of the week? Are you sure about this?

Jimmy

On 7/28,  **Lois Lane**  wrote:  
Hey Jimmy, listen, it's 3 o'clock in the mourning and I'm probabyl going to regret this but I was wondering if you could do some digging for me. remember the stack of photographs I polietly asked you to never let see the light of day agan? Could you kind those for me maybe? and not mention it to Richard on pain of death? because I will kill you.

-L

* * *

Jimmy Olsen sighed as he looked at his computer.

'This is not good.'

Jimmy tried to warn the Bullpen around him with his mind, tried to psychically convey how uncomfortable he felt with this mission and its inevitable consequences. While most of Lois' closest friends had been expecting something like this from the very moment Superman returned, Jimmy didn't think it was going to come like this. And he certainly didn't expect it to come to  _him_.

Jimmy knew exactly where those photographs were (kind of), having championed a level of organization in his various portfolios unknown in modern times, which consisted of a few hundred different parameters for filing, from "Date" and "Subject" to "Six or More People" and "I Was Happy When I Took These." One hundred Paige boxes in the temperature and humidity controlled sub-basement of the  _Planet_  made up his professional collection. His old bedroom back at his mom's (which the kindly elder Olsen let Jimmy fill with slides, negatives, burned DVDs, and more Paige boxes) made up his personal collection. And the space under his bed. AND the second closet in the bedroom of his apartment.

Another sigh.

Having gotten the green light from Lois five years ago to 'dispose to the depths of hell' about one hundred and fifty photographs, and, knowing in his heart and soul that it was the right thing to do in addition to the death threats, Jimmy had changed the status of these photos from 'professional' to 'personal.'

Which meant moving them back into his bedroom at his mom's and sorting into the "Prevalent Emotion" boxes in his collection. Jimmy knew these prints were spread all over and while it might still, despite all this, be possible to find them all, he knew what the favor really meant:

Lois was thinking really, really hard about Superman. And not in a professional way. Not in the way that would have her ask for a good shot of him conquering evil for the front page, or of burning buildings, or lost kittens. No, she was thinking of him in a way that made her want to look back at the intimate dance that had been these rare shots of rare moments between them, photographs that Jimmy had had the chutzpah to take only because he was a trained professional with an Associates from the local community college.

He looked at Richard's dark head in the Assistant Editor's office and winced with sympathy for the man who had so unknowingly walked into a passionate, otherworldly tension between the world's strongest man and the world's most intense woman. Jimmy watched Richard move his head in conversation on the phone and thought suddenly of the little boy soon to suffer for his mother's sins. It was for Jason that Jimmy regretted Superman both leaving and returning. He sighed.

'That is, if sins they are,' for Jimmy didn't know after all. Lois could have any number of reasons for seeking out these photographs, maybe she just really wanted to burn them after all, because Jimmy knew Lois would never do anything to destroy the home life that she had sacrificed so much for. Lois wouldn't take Jason's father away from him. Whether that meant that nothing was out of place and this was an innocent request OR that Lois would be that much more careful in her secrets from Richard, Jimmy didn't know.

'It's a good thing for Lois Lane that I'm a good friend,' Jimmy thought wryly as he replied quickly to the e-mail and glanced over at Lois' empty desk. Not only could those photos potentially confirm to Richard something most people already knew, but, they could probably have earned Jimmy a LOT of money. Any number of tabloids would have paid thousands per photo, but he was only kidding with himself (as he often did). He would never dream of it. Superman was his friend, too.

'But, hey, if times ever get rough and if I'm sure it'll fall under the DoD's radar...'

"OLSEN!" Jimmy jumped in his seat and swung around, wide-eyed, convinced he was caught along with Lois in something no one knew about.

"Yes, Chief!"

"88th and Tulsen NOW! Hostage situation and a suicide jumper on the same building, that must be some kind of record. Every crisis counselor in the city is laughing at the police. GO!" Perry looked left and right. "WHERE ARE LLOYD AND HOLMES! Never mind, fucking people finally getting something done." He turned around, "AND WHERE ARE DACEY AND RADCLIFFEE! Damnit, RICHARD!"

Richard, who just had come to the doorway in his office and therefore right into Perry's line-of-sight, took a step back, "Uncle Perry I have no experience with-"

"NOW!"

"But I get nervous with-"

"NOW!"

And Richard ran back into his office while Jimmy closed out of his Inbox and immediately sought out his camera bag. He tried zippering the over-stuffed pockets, reached in, pulled out a package of dust masks and two flares, and tried ramming his telephoto lens in their place. The news monitors were switching to scenes of the crisis as the networks caught up with the police, details on the events audible only to Jimmy and a few others who had their desks right under pillars.

Jimmy relished the interesting feeling of being in the know before most of the world, something rare in the modern day of instant communication. Perry had an actual red phone in his office that Lois and Bill had given him as a prank birthday present one year, because he always managed to hear about emergencies first. The photographer wondered not for the first time who it was that alerted Mr. White to crises around the city.

Richard came flying out of his office looking distinctly off-put yet determined just as Jimmy dropped his bag.

"Do you have a car?"

Jimmy looked up as if to say, 'Look who you just asked!'

"Okay, never mind, we'll take mine."

"No, I'll drive." Jimmy shot over his shoulder as they made their way to the elevator, "There's only one way to navigate this city in a crisis. Don't worry, I'm your man."

* * *

"AHHHHH STOP!" Richard was yelling in his ear and holding onto his waist with all his might, legs flailing out and nearly kicking pedestrians and poles. Jimmy had his thumb on the horn of his "1950's green" and cream Vespa, and was weaving in and out of traffic at a healthy 20 MPH.

"Take your legs in, you're messing up my balance!"

"Are you  _crazy_?" Taxis were whooshing by them on their way to the deadlock ahead that signaled a police block in the mid-day rush. Richard bumped his head into Jimmy's matching helmet for the fourth time and cursed. He kicked a leg out again and made contact with a newspaper rack machine for the  _Planet_. Then he finally brought in his foot.

"Small motor scooters are an efficient and low-priced city transportation alternative," horns blared to their left, panicked people were cursing and warning them away in their wake, "I, as a licensed operator, am fully qualified to operate this machine," Jimmy's camera bag almost leaped out of the little basket on the front when he hopped a curb, "And the press pass on the front helps me avoid parking tickets."

"STOP!"

"Excuse me,  _Daily Planet_  coming through!" Jimmy took his hand off the handlebars to wave his press pass in front of him like a shield. Richard thought he looked like an over-excited teenager with a new toy.

"POLICE LINE! Get the hell out of here before you get hurt, kid!"

"That's fine," Jimmy said over his shoulder to Richard, "The jumper is on the other side, I bet he doesn't even know there's a hostage situation in the same building. We'll sneak in over there where security is more relaxed. Suicide is a breeze." Jimmy turned into an alley and swerved to avoid a broken beer bottle, "I envy Lois, the cops part like the Red Sea when they see  _her_  pass," Jimmy put his leg out to handle a 90 degree turn through a courtyard and out another alley, "I wonder what Superman will do with two problems at the same time."

Richard piped up with a normal sentence for the first time the whole ride, "Why doesn't he just pluck the jumper off the building?"

Jimmy maneuvered through trashcans and braked to a stop. He turned off the Vespa, put down the kickstand and waited for Richard to get off first, "He prefers to talk them down, just like the police, and only intercedes if they actually jump." Jimmy went about quickly fixing a chain to a lamppost. "Once he brought up sandwiches and sat on a ledge with a teenage girl for three hours." Jimmy swung his camera bag across his chest and shoulder and starting jogging towards the second police line in front of them. "Otherwise nothing gets accomplished and that person might just go kill themselves another day, another way."

They came out to another police barrier, but Jimmy had guessed accurately: the situation was not as tense nor as populated. Richard wondered what it must be like for a police officer in situations like these, whether they felt impatient with people trying to harm themselves when innocent people were pulled into a crisis against their will.

Jimmy and Richard moved forward with press passes held aloft and slowly made their way past the officers and barricades and towards the line of police cars. Many sets of binoculars were aimed skyward and a little think-tank of police and people in plain clothes stood closer to the building with a megaphone and hand-held radios. There, resplendent in a blouse of pale green, next to a television reporter holding out a microphone, stood Lois, digital recorder out and a stern expression on her face.

Richard moved a step towards her while Jimmy starting affixing the telephoto. "Lois is here."

Jimmy looked up quickly but snapped his attention back to his camera.

"She usually is, isn't she? Chief probably sent another reporter just in case they were too far away."

"They?"

"Lois or Clark or both." Jimmy was now focusing on the jumper. "It's a woman, mid-forties I would guess. She's holding a radio, Superman must have been to her already and left her with the crisis team." Jimmy started snapping pictures and Richard turned from squinting up at the jumper to looking across the flashing lights to Lois.

"Damnit," he muttered. Jimmy paid him no attention, as he knew he wouldn't.

'Damnit Lois, you said you never went  _looking_  for trouble!'

Richard and Lois had gotten into a whisper fight two nights ago after a very tense family dinner. It must have been obvious to even their four year old that something was about to pop behind Richard's eyes because Jason went upstairs and bathed with Lois without any extra fuss. Richard had sat fuming in the living room, reading the back of an air freshener can for no reason, ready to pounce on Lois when she padded downstairs all sweet-smelling with her hair in a towel.

"The Henderson story, Lois?" He hadn't even given her warning that he was about to start up with her, but he didn't really care. He was entitled. Lois had been acting so odd lately, he felt so out of sorts between her behavior, Clark, Superman, and the world that he just finally felt himself snap.

Lois looked angry, but kept her wits about her for the first few volleys.

"I  _know_  that story, I  _testified_ , it only makes sense for me to follow up!"

"Do you remember what we went through during that story? Do you remember us having to call your mother to baby-sit when I  _bailed you out of jail_?"

"Don't bring that up again, you know perfectly well that cop was working for-"

" _Lois_ , I don't want to have to deal with this again!"

"Well you will deal with it,  _Richard_. This is  _my_  story,  _my_  career,  _my_  neck."

"Has it occurred to you that we all almost  _died_  recently?"

" _What?_  Luthor has nothing to-"

"It has everything to do with it! What the hell did you think you were doing, bringing Jason to that house? You just walked off with the lives of our  _son_ ,  _me_  because I had to go after you, even..." Richard stopped, in a huff. He knew he shouldn't say it. He wasn't that angry, there were places he didn't want to stray in this argument. He didn't want to direct her attention away from the point at hand:  _their lives_.

Lois, thankfully, didn't remark on the conspicuous absence of Superman's name.

" _He was trying to take over the world_ , Richard," her dry manner incensed Richard even more, "As a citizen of the  _planet_  I thought it might be my duty to try and stop him. And I didn't even know that when I got there! I was just looking into the EMP, wasn't I? I don't go  _looking_  for trouble!"

"Oh, you don't? You just happen to come across it?" Richard moved across the room and headed towards the door. Lois must have thought he was leaving because she practically ran to intercept him. He picked up his briefcase however, and turned around.

"Look at this, Lois," he slammed down his suitcase on a couch cushion, which was obviously more for show than shock, and flipped it open to reveal innumerable photocopied articles spread out among his possessions. "Kyle thought it would be funny to show me something in the wake of the Luthor incident. Did you know there was a Bullpen pool going for almost nine years on how you'd get yourself killed?"

Richard made a gesture at the briefcase that he felt would express the horrendousness of this action, hoping it would speak of the concern and attention that Lois obviously needed to have for her own life. As he looked at her however, he saw she was trying not to smile. Richard stared at her, furious again. "You  _did_  know?"

"I, uh, took odds on 'death by natural fire.' I think I get five hundred dollars if I die in a volcano."

"Are you fucking serious?" She bet on her own life? "Can't you see how  _sick_  this is?" He pulled out a fistful of articles. "Look! Look! Bill didn't win when you almost died in a helicopter crash, Betty wrote 'nice going' when you didn't die the last time Luthor was around, and the time before that, and the time before that," he kept leafing through articles, pointing out the sarcastic hand-written comments in the margins, "Uncle Perry laments here that Superman didn't kill you by accident when he flew you away from a gas main explosion,  _Clark_  said 'happy you're safe' when you weren't flattened by a truck during a bank robbery, some guy I've never heard of was disappointed that you," he squinted at the text of the article, "managed to survive testifying against Antoine Falano, Marissa told you to 'pull over' during a car chase..." Papers were flying all over the living room.

"This is my job, yours too! We're bound to encounter some difficulties while in the field-"

"In the field?  _In the field?_  Lois, you're a reporter, not a soldier, this isn't a joke! You have a family, you have Jason and me to be concerned about, and here on the eve of almost killing us you're off insisting you get a story that almost killed you once already! Who would have won the pool had you died in the shootout last time!? Who would have won the pool had you drowned in that pantry?!"

"Margaret from Copy. She retired. I think Jimmy bought her out. Maury would have made out on the drowning." Lois was glaring at him, her hair down now and wet around her face. She looked as fierce as he imagined she must be.

"Lois." He tried to calm his voice, make her see reason, get her to actually answer a question to his satisfaction, "How many crazy things have you done without telling me?"

"What? Nothing! You've read my stories these past four years, haven't you?"

"Did you really just happen to be there when the factory fire started last October?" Silence. "Were you just  _around_  when you chased down that armed cab driver?"

"I didn't know he was armed at the time, did I?"

"It seems like the second you stopped breast feeding you went out and tried to make me a single father." He said this calmly, hoping his tone would help it sink in. This was a low blow; a high card to show.

Lois' nostrils were flared, her voice was steely, "Shut up, Richard. If you must know I've been watching my steps ever since Jason was born! Do you know how many times I ignored a good lead or an interesting story? NO! You weren't around when I was single and unattached, you don't know how relatively cautious I have been for  _your sake_." She said this last in a sing-song voice as she took steps nearer and nearer him, backing him into a corner and making him crinkle the various sheets thrown about the living room, "Don't you ever imply such a thing about me and my son again-"

" _Your_  son?!" They were spiraling away from the real issue, as often happens in heated fights.

"-Besides, the Henderson story was a fluke, it went too crazy, too fast, but it's different this time, I have someone at my back-"

"So Uncle Perry  _was_  serious about Superman being back so that you wouldn't go and get yourself killed! Is this really the way it is, are you really this reckless when you know he's around?" He interjected this as quickly as he could, suddenly riled up again.

Lois continued as if he'd said nothing, "-And if you have an issue with the Henderson story, or anything that I decide to do now that I have my  _partner_ , Richard,  _Clark_ ," she could have no idea how this infuriated him, more even than if she had admitted the Superman factor, "Then you will just have to  _deal with it_."

* * *

Richard stared now at her, flaunting the utter disregard she had for their argument by her very presence here, having responded to a story that she probably heard about over the radio. She had no business here, it was all quite worthless and it aggravated him. And she was alone, after all! Where was her partner now? What difference did it make to say she had Clark back?

'You're a reporter, Lois, not a first responder. Why do you get yourself into  _everything_?' Richard looked around, 'Granted this isn't going to get you killed but  _why_  are you  _always_  in the thick of it? WHY?'

These angry thoughts dissipated a little, however, as he watched Lois' expression. 'Why does she look so concerned?' Richard started walking towards her, 'This is, after all, standard to her...' He glanced up at the building, and then left to where he could see flashing lights there, too, reflecting off the windows of buildings on the corner. 'And why is she on  _this_  side?' Richard suddenly wondered about the hostages, hoped they were okay. The reality of this situation was starting to sink in; Richard had not spent any time 'in the field.'

Richard did have to admit however, as an unfazed Jimmy came up behind him and they trotted over to Lois, that he was in awe of the two of them. They were completely at ease in this high tension. Jimmy had seen more in his short career than Richard probably had seen in his life, and never mind the experience that it must be to live as Lois Lane. Richard gave her a frustrated look that she never got the chance to see, as just then a scared, weeping voice came across the radio held between the think-tank.

"I don't  _have_ a reason! I just want this to end!"

"Calm down, Melody, and we can resolve this together."

"Where is he? He said he'd come back, I felt a lot safer, this is crazy, oh my god I'm so scared..."

That seemed to be enough for Lois who flicked off her recorder, turned on her heel and broke out into a full run down the block. Richard had just opened his mouth to softly call her name and was now hurrying to catch up, Jimmy right behind him.

"Well, I guess we're going to the hostage side!" Jimmy sounded amused, Richard felt cold and nervous.

They rounded the corner, sprinted down the abandoned sidewalks and flashed their passes at the police keeping curious onlookers at bay, came around the next corner, and continued to run towards the line of cross looking police. Stern faces were closing ranks where the swell had opened for Lois and it was probably only because the cops thought they were with her that they got through so easily. No words were exchanged as the  _Daily Planet_  pass worked flawlessly this time and Richard and Jimmy emerged into a much darker scene. SWAT trucks were lined up directly in front of them and various heavily armed people stood like an army against the world.

While Richard stalled in his pursuit at this scene (which put the words "hostage situation" into perspective for someone who was eating a raspberry danish fifteen minutes ago), Jimmy was the one who made his way bravely between the trucks and towards the line of police cars with men taking cover behind doors, weapons raised.

Richard had never seen so many guns.

Past the flat black of the SWAT trucks, Richard's eye suddenly found the only colors that his eyes seemed to register in the scene: the primary assault that was the red and blue of Metropolis' favorite headline contrasted rather horribly with the pale green that was Lois. She was hanging back behind a circle of SWAT and police officers, who were currently engaging a very serious Superman. Lois looked ready to rush forward and was practically on her tiptoes with impatience.

Richard gingerly walked past Jimmy, who had taken a discreet spot off to the side and was now struggling with his digital camera. The telephoto was interchangeable and Jimmy nearly dropped it in his rush.

Richard circled wide, trying not to startle any on-edge and armed police, and made his way to where the rest of the media had gathered, just out of ear shot. Television reporters juggled microphones and notes. Richard noticed there weren't many other newspapers represented, and those reporters who had shown up already were looking over at Lois with sour expressions. None of them dared go so close to the think-tank and Richard couldn't help but agree with Jimmy about the different atmosphere here. Everyone seemed to be holding his or her breath.

Richard moved around the front of an idling news van and listened to the low hum of servos positioning the onboard satellite dish. He looked over at Lois and just then remembered to actually take out his pen and pad. The eerie quiet of the abandoned sidewalks and scared looking residents peering down from their apartments above chilled Richard. He felt very much that he did not belong here.

"I don't understand it either, they may be threatening them with something else." Superman's voice was quite deep, Richard suddenly realized. He looked across the street and felt rather naked under the open sky as he spotted the silhouettes of what he guessed were the hostages and their captors.

'Shit. Guns.' He looked around at the very serious police, trying not to make eye contact, 'A lot of guns.' Richard edged further behind the TV van, thinking wildly about which direction he would run should someone start shooting.

"Alright, we'll just have to wait and see," the officer closest Superman radio-ed some unknown party. He had heavy eyebrows and was sweating.

"Confirmed, we're waiting for their demands."

"Confirmed, standing by." The sweating man turned to Superman, "I agree that we wait to hear what they're after."

"Then I'm going to circle around and check on Mrs. Lamontage, I'll be back in five minutes, but I'll have an ear out." The officers nodded, Superman turned back to the building for what Richard guessed was an x-ray. It was odd to Richard to see the now-powerful Superman broadcasting gravitas, since his introduction to him in person had been a brief moment of insane strength followed by death throes and bloody pliers on the floor of his seaplane. It was only now that Richard appreciated the alien force that was this creature before him, this visitor from another  _planet_  that talked down depressed girls and who gave Lois,  _his Lois_ , the interviews of a lifetime. Superman seemed satisfied and started ascending out of the circle and across the street when a hand came up and caught his cape.

"Wait, this isn't what it seems!"

And the powerful, iconic image that was the Man of Steel Surveying a Crisis suddenly became a comical look at what it looks like to be halted in mid-air by a woman jumping up to tug on your cape. The SWAT member closest to Lois looked alarmed and ready to seize her. The older, eyebrow cop looked around at her, not as surprised as the others. Superman landed quickly and took two steps towards Lois, regarding her very seriously. Two of the officers had started forward, but they suddenly stepped back in confusion at Superman's next words.

"What do you mean?"

"C'mon, you know there's no way that two incidents of this magnitude would happen on opposite sides of the same building at the same time."

Richard cringed; the police were looking angry at this intrusion and Richard had to admit that Lois looked a little nuts in the middle of this war zone. He glanced back at the other media who were watching warily. Surely this was no time for Lois Lane dramatics.

But Superman did not seem to think so.

"What are you thinking?" he had eyes only for her face now and was giving her his full attention.

"That woman doesn't want to kill herself, she has no reason to, and doesn't sound so far gone to  _not_  need one. I don't think she ever wanted to be out that window."

Superman stared down at Lois, thinking, and Richard took a few steps closer to watch them interact in a moment that threatened neither of them and only someone else. Richard spotted Jimmy taking pictures of the pair of them rather than the surroundings. The police still looked incredulous.

"Then what?" Superman looked around thoughtfully and then back at Lois without even a glance at her recorder, "A distraction? From what? Not the hostages, they knew that wouldn't work, or are they also a distraction..." He looked towards the ground floor of the building, frowning. Then he let his gaze drift right, and up, and over, scanning. He rose lightly into the air, slowly raking over the whole building with his eyes and looking like a man hypnotized, his forehead creased in thought. Lois watched him, the circle of uniforms now also puzzled looking.

"They don't have any demands, copy."

The sweaty cop looked down at the radio. "No demands?"

Superman now looked even more thoughtful, and closed his eyes.

Jimmy caught Richard's eye, pointed to his ear and then put a finger to his lips. Richard understood and actually held his breath as he looked on, feeling the awe again, imagining super-hearing washing over him. It was almost like a physical sensation, to know that Superman could probably now hear his and every other heartbeat in a mile radius.

"Fake bomb."

The circle of authority looked up at him.

"Where?"

"Ground floor. In lead. Ticking, as if bombs still ticked. And now we know why everyone is doing such a good job of pretending. I'm guessing Mrs. Lamontagne made her way to the 47th floor from where these unfortunate people are now, under the same threat. I also expect that open safe," Superman pointed at the stone wall a number of floors above the hostages, "Is why we're here, and not in pursuit right now."

Lois gave a dry chuckle, "Good one. Not as sharp as we used to be, eh?" This was said to the group at large. They turned to stare at her, incensed. Richard cringed for her.

"You are, Ms. Lane." Superman turned gracefully in midair to look at her while he drifted back to Earth. "As always."

"Let's confirm this before we all have tea, shall we?" The cop hit the trigger on the radio, "Boris, ask the kind people if they're really sorry and are afraid of being blown up for admitting it, will you?" The SWAT team leader was looking between Lois and Superman in frank astonishment.

"Confirm?"

"Confirm!"

"Would you mind asking Officer Thompson to radio over to Lieutenant Rodriguez? I'm sure Mrs. Lamontagne has had enough." Superman directed his gaze up and apparently all the way through the building to the other side, "I'll wait here until we get word back from the 'hostage takers.'"

The solemn looking think-tank started to move apart into separate conversations and finally word got back from both radio points that this was all a sham and no one could describe the perpetrators. The sweating cop swatted Superman on the back before gathering men to go take statements. Richard couldn't believe the shift in the air as the lack of danger made itself apparent. A dark, amused feeling took over. Richard was still close enough to listen to the TV reporters update the world and even heard the tech guy laugh from inside the van. Jimmy started to make his way from next to him and over to the frazzled police.

It shocked Richard to the core to see a look of pleased recognition cross Superman's face.

"Why if it isn't Mr. Olsen! A pleasure to see you!"

Richard watched Jimmy go from fierce battlefront photographer to star-struck kid. "Hi, Superman!" He stuck out his hand like a Boy Scout and Superman shook it. "Good to have you back! I haven't seen you yet to tell you so!"

Lois rolled her eyes and smiled at Jimmy. The various officers were now walking towards the building, muttering. Jimmy got his hand back and made a show of rubbing it as Lois reached into her purse for her pen and pad with the recorder in her teeth. Richard listened to the metallic clinking of about one hundred safeties clicking back into place.

"How have you been?" Superman asked.

"Good! Good! Got my own place, and a cubicle wall with a nameplate!" Superman chuckled, "I've done a lot more running around lately with you back, I'm usually about ten steps behind you. Would you mind standing still sometimes? Especially when you see this?" and Jimmy took a photograph of a startled Superman. The broad shoulders moved with laughter and he shared a look with Lois. The three of them were smiling like old friends at each other. Richard had not even thought about moving forward.

"I've also got my best friend back! Did you know Clark was back in Metropolis?"

Superman looked like the statement meant the world to him, "Oh!" He turned to regard Lois; she glanced up with her mouth full of recorder. "You should have told me Mr. Kent was back." He looked down at her, a teasing quality in his voice that raised the hair on Richard's neck.

"Did he owe you a bottle of whiskey, too?" Jimmy's voice was full of laughter. Weren't they in a life and death situation about sixty seconds ago?

Lois was spending most of this conversation looking at her pad and gumming the hand-held TechSound that Richard had given her for Christmas this year, but she spit it out into her purse and shared a humored look with Jimmy, "We  _both_  got Clark drunk in the last three months. It must be some kind of record."

"Not Mr. Kent, certainly," Superman chuckled and turned to ask Jimmy another question.

Lois looked up and straight at Richard, her mouth dropping open in surprise, something she tried to make up for a split second later with a smile and a wave. Superman trailed off in the middle of a sentence and Lois looked up at him, cottoning on: his eyes were closed. She wrote something down very fast and held up the pad towards him before speaking.

"Well, go on, I'm surprised you stayed this long. How far away is it?"

"Close." He started to take off from the ground, opened his eyes, and looked down at her and the pad.

"Is this how you spell 'deceitful' as in 'deceitful illusion?'"

Superman regarded the pad for a split-second, "Yes," looked right at Lois and then moved skyward so fast that Richard felt invisible pressure from where he lifted off. The scene had begun to clear remarkably fast and Richard felt they should get out of the way. He beckoned to Lois and Jimmy. Lois' heels had just started clicking towards him when a BOOM seemed to rupture out of the sky. Richard looked wildly around for smoke or flames or debris, whatever usually accompanied a bomb exploding, but saw nothing.

Lois gasped one single word that Richard had no way of really understanding before the chaos broke out: " _Exhale!_ "

And Lois grabbed Jimmy and himself, blew her warm breath into his face in her rush, and so suddenly that Richard was sure he'd just died, all the air was concussed out his lungs and a loud noise went off to his right. He gasped blindly for air but couldn't move with the sudden shock of acceleration that was being saved from a bomb by Superman. Crushed into an awkward embrace were a terrified Jimmy, Lois, and Richard, flying so fast that they were dropped off a good five blocks from where they had been a second ago. Richard fell face down on the sidewalk and tried to breathe again. Lois was the first back on her feet. She and Jimmy still had their bags, but Richard was sure he'd left a pair of lungs behind.

Lois spoke, "It didn't sound too big, the area had already been cleared, we figured it out too soon!" and was running back towards the smoke. Richard was gasping for air. Jimmy took off after her. "Lois!"

* * *

"All in all, a shitty day."

Lois was covered in black soot and was resting her forehead on the lid of a store bought coffee.

"So it was all just an illusion?" Clark's voice was a little amused. Lois did look rather comical covered in black powder with raccoon eyes from where she has rubbed her face. The steam from the coffee had moistened some of the substance and it smeared across her forehead when she moved to talk.

"We figure the smoke bomb was timed to go off at just about the time we figured out it was a hoax, causing more delay in apprehending the thieves."

"But Superman caught them anyway?"

"They got a blowout twenty blocks away." She sat up and looked across at Jimmy and Richard, both covered in black soot. "That's what he heard before he came back, them cursing about putting too much gold in the trunk." Richard and Jimmy nodded glumly.

"And that first noise?" Richard inquired.

Lois put her head back on her coffee. "Sonic boom. And for him to go that fast I knew we would need rescuing. Words to the wise!" Lois raised her voice and a few people looked around, slightly interested. Lois held up a hand as she spoke and then let it flop back down. "Always exhale if you expect to be catapulted by Superman." The few interested souls smiled and shook their heads, turning back to their work. Clark nodded sagely to nobody.

Richard and Jimmy rubbed their ribs. Richard turned to Jimmy. "Why the digital camera?"

He knew that Jimmy still preferred film, when he could get it.

"Huh? Oh. More words to the wise: clicking shutters startle gun toting cops." Lois and Clark chuckled at Jimmy.

Richard, of course, did not now and never seemed to  _ever_  get the joke between the three of them. He bristled as he felt the Treehouse Effect again; the obviously battle-tested trio were sharing wisdom and laughs over what Richard thought was madness enough for a lifetime. He began to pout. The phone was ringing in his office.

He stared over at Lois, wondering again at her like he'd never seen her before. Maybe it was the shock of seeing her in her element for the first time, of seeing her interact with Superman without being half-drowned or trying to save  _his_  life. But whatever the case, Lois seemed suddenly tied to the mythos of Superman more than lofty ideals and hope for humanity.

In all the angry thoughts he directed towards her and her recklessness lately, Richard had never before appreciated her role as the liaison to the extraordinary presence of 'Superman.' She stood next to him today like a solider, shoulder to shoulder with a comrade, all other forces eclipsed by her simple words and frank observation. Richard replayed their conversation in his head, watched Superman twist in the air to come down to her as if about to step up and engage her in dance. He noted the look on the older officer, the one who recognized her, who stayed back from her conversation with Superman. He wondered how many times Lois Lane had changed history, saved a life, made a difference in the world. He then turned these thoughts inward, and asked the same questions of himself, hidden in his office all these years.

But there was something else bothering him as he watched Clark walk to the break room to retrieve the paper towels Lois demanded of him. He had spent the entire cab ride back to the building ("NO THANKS, Jimmy, really, I'll just split a cab with Lois.") thinking about it.

"Jimmy."

"Mmm?" The younger man was clicking through his digital camera, Richard saw him trying to angle away the shots of Lois and Superman and didn't realize Richard could see them anyway. Richard had lost count of the number of times people had tried to hide something of this nature from him since Superman had returned to the city.

"Superman knows Clark?"

"Oh, yeah, Clark used to write him all the time." Jimmy paused, still looking at his camera. "He and Lois shared Superman duties for awhile, and whenever Lois didn't make it to a scene, Clark usually managed to get there in time. And actually," Jimmy shook his head and said wonderingly, "I think Superman gave CK phone interviews, too. Wouldn't that be funny? Having Superman's phone number? I guess they haven't gotten together yet since he came back, Superman has been kinda scarce. You know?"

Richard didn't know, no, but nodded thoughtfully as if in understanding. He watched the mini LCD screen reflected in Jimmy's computer monitor, saw a mini Lois being regarded by a mini Superman and felt that same lost feeling echo all around him again. He looked back at Lois who was trying to ruin Clark's suit now that he came into reach with her towels.

"Hold still, this is what you get for deciding you needed to go to your bank at THAT second!"

"But I was going to overdraft my account, that's a fifty dollar fee!" Clark was dancing out of her reach.

Lois was trying to grab his coat with her stained hands, "Come back here, you clean bastard."

Richard was surprised. He had not once encountered the fact that Superman knew Clark. Or Jimmy for that matter. It seemed like the Treehouse had a fourth member, and that annoyed him again.

It had always been Lois that seemed to know everything about him. In the weeks following Superman's return every section of the paper had been assigned a Superman-related piece. Everyone seemed to automatically know that Lois Lane was the Superman Encyclopedia and even the interns came up to her expecting answers to the most random questions. While at first this irritated the hell out of her, she eventually just took it in stride and answered automatically.

"Hey Lois, did Superman live on Earth before he came to Metropolis, or did he just show up that day knowing our languages and stuff?"

"He lived here before, and I can't tell you any more than that."

"Why does he look human?"

"I don't know. Although he told me his belly button is here," she sat back in her chair and pointed lower on her torso than usual, "If that floats your boat."

"What are his favorite movies?"

Lois rolled her eyes at Gary from Entertainment. He shrugged, looking off-put that he had this assignment to begin with, "He likes murder mysteries, but doesn't have time to watch a lot of TV or movies. He reads more." And she picked up a sheaf of paper and flipped through it rapidly with her thumb as explanation, "And loves Agatha Christie and Conan Doyle. His favorite book is Moby Dick."

"Does Superman drink?" came Food and Wine, "And well, can he get drunk?" This second question was asked, Richard knew, out of pure curiosity.

"He does and yes. But that's not to say often. All I know is that I've seen him have a glass of champagne and that he can get drunk because I asked the same way you just did. But," she laughed at her monitor as she kept typing, "I doubt he's done it more than twice in his life."

"Where does he live?" Jake from the cleaning service.

"Metropolis."

"How do you know?" Came another voice.

"He told me?" And Lois went to swat the newbie away like a fly, "And most of his intercessions are here, aren't they?"

"What does that mean?"

"Superman can only hear so far, so he must spend most of his time in this area because he comes down from heaven most often around here."

Another newbie had spoken up, listening in and openly curious, "Why do you suppose he stays here?"

Lois snapped, "Why don't you ask  _him_?" but Heather Reynolds looked around at her at the question.

"Hey Louise," Lois glared at the guy from Travel, "Does Superman go on rounds?"

"My name is Lois and if you don't know that already, you should be fired. And yes. He circles the planet twice a day at least."

"At least?"

"Yes,  _at least_." This seemed to be a sore point, Richard had no idea why.

"Does he have super-smelling?"

"Yes."

"Does he need air?"

"Yes. But he can hold his breath longer than a whale."

This brought an odd image to Richard's imagination.

"Does he eat?"

"Yes. An iron stomach, good for him. I made him eat a jar of jalapenos once on a dare just to prove it." Lois had said this when she didn't know Richard was listening. He had a feeling she wouldn't have added that last bit if she'd known.

The day that the new woman from Gossip walked up to her, Lois had stomped away before she could finish her question.

"Um, Superman doesn't have any 'love interests,' Noreen." Jimmy had actually whispered that, "Don't ask that question." Poor Noreen had no idea why half the Bullpen was suddenly talking louder than normal and trying to get Richard's attention. Betty took her away and the next day Noreen sent knowing, interested looks at Lois for two hours.

"Do you, uh, know if Superman speaks any other languages?" This was Richard's question.

"He can communicate the basics in almost every major language," and she ticked them off on her fingers without looking up, "Mostly things like 'what's your name,' 'where's your family,' 'are you hurt?'"

"Does he ever get depressed?" Lois actually looked up at this query. It was asked by the mousy girl from Health who had exhausted her list of questions about Superman's diet. A haunted look came over Lois and she nodded slowly, "He feels the weight of the world on his shoulders. He mourns those he's not in time to save. He remembers every mistake he's ever made. He makes himself responsible for all of humanity. He..." And Lois trailed off at a serious look from Clark. "Don't print that, Mary."

"Okay." And she turned to walk away. Lois seemed to think she'd been rude and sent some useful information to her retreating back, "He can only use calisthenics to exercise and does Tai chi every morning!"

Neither Clark nor Jimmy had ever piped up to answer a question. A Superman Encyclopedia, indeed. One that Richard fell asleep at night wondering about, wondering if Lois' three month long denial of having loved the most curious thing on Earth was a lie spoken in defiance or a truth she had forced herself to believe. Richard was fast losing faith. Or, maybe he  _was_  just simply, The Story of a Lifetime, and she the most passionate journalist on Earth.

After seeing them interact today, he felt he just didn't have enough information.

* * *

Jimmy looked up at the frown on Richard's face. He looked down at his camera.

'Crap. He saw the pictures.'

Richard was staring at Lois, who in the last five minutes had managed to chase Clark home for the day. She was now gathering her belongings and talking to him about getting Jason from daycare downstairs. Jimmy gave a smile as they bade him good evening and watched them wait for the elevator from across the room.

'Poor Richard,' thought Jimmy sadly, although he couldn't help but smile at the memory of getting to talk to Superman again. Memories of crazier times and the special feeling of having Superman know your name and remember your birthday had Jimmy thinking that whether he wanted to or not, he was suddenly routing for Superman over Richard. It was less about Richard and more about what Jimmy could just feel between the two of them today at the hostage situation. It was the way Lois had stepped back in time to their old repartee, the way he looked at her when she came running back through the smoke.

Jimmy sat staring long after the elevator had swallowed Lois and Richard, wondering. Words were burned behind his eyelids, black against yellow paper in his mind, shouting out a warning similar to Lois' email this morning. He had seen it, although he was rather certain that Lois didn't realize.

'Meet roof 11?'

_"Is this how you spell 'deceitful' as in 'deceitful illusion?'"_


	8. Rendezvous

"Well then so who do you think," Clark yawned in the middle of his sentence, "Did it?"

"Oh I don't know, I'm thinking the Countess because she's young enough to be the lost Armstrong sister."

Lois' voice was soft as she drove a silent car along a quiet highway. It was 10:30 at night and she had Clark on speakerphone through the radio. She thought it was a wonderful feature. His voice filled the cabin in response; Lois felt comfortable in the darkness, her hands illuminated by the dashboard.

"That's a good guess."

"Am I right?"

"That would ruin it, Lois!"

Small bumps in the road that Lois never really felt in her fast paced commute seemed to rock the car every few seconds, the repetitive 'thump-thump' of both axles hitting them was hypnotizing. The darkness and quiet of the car was soothing. Lois was alone and she liked it.

"Well fine, I should finish it tomorrow. So you're good for 9 o'clock?"

"Yes, that's fine."

Thump-thump.

"I'll pick you up. Gotta run, Smallville."

"See you tomorrow, Lois."

Lois reached out and hit 'end' on her phone in its holder. If there was one great thing about Clark, it was that he never forced her through polite, normal conversation. Lois would call, ask a question, hang up. She could call with sirens in the background, call from the car when she would normally have been home, call from work when she would normally be in the car, or call at any hour and it didn't matter. There were no unnecessary questions, no wondering about where she was and what she was doing, no need to lead into the point from the polite pleasantries following 'hello' nor away from the matter at hand and towards 'goodbye.' It was simple, to the point, and unobtrusive. He was easy to talk to.

Despite being relatively relaxed in the glow of the interior lights and the cool air blowing gently from the vents, Lois was a little on edge about ideas of 'where she was going,' 'when,' and 'why.' The very reason she was so refreshed by Clark's simple manner was probably still staring out the small pane of glass next to the front door back at home, wondering to the universe why Lois would be going back to the _Planet_ at 10:30pm on a Thursday. Lois briefly thought back to a time when she wouldn't be _home_ from the _Planet_ until 10:30 on a Thursday and sighed...

'It's just guilt,' she thought sullenly as the familiar irritation at Richard's constant presence in her life started through her mind again. She shifted in her seat, sat up a little as she anticipated her exit approaching, and took a moment to stare off at the city as she came along the Harbor Bridge and across the water.

_Her_ city. Metropolis. Its buildings only a pattern of random, dimly lit windows against a dark, new moon sky; twinkling lights of cabs driving on Bay Boulevard evidence of the late-night hustle, the never ending rise and fall of breath in the city. Lois looked in her rear view mirror at the darkness behind her, the quiet, slumbering coast that, while traced within the city limits on property tax maps, was far more than a bridge away from being a city. It was a place Lois never dreamed of living before considerations like schools and wide-open playgrounds mattered in her life. _Her_ playground was never a cab ride away, in the city, in the pulse of all-night diners and bars, laundromats and bodegas. The grind of the subways, the hard sidewalks beneath her heels, the feeling of being surrounded by millions of people and yet utterly alone on late night streets.

Lois gave herself a moment to remember her old apartment, remember falling asleep to sirens in the distance, remember waking up to honking traffic and her coffee guy on the corner.

Soon, the scents of oil-stained macadam and dried out garbage reached her nostrils through the vents and the air got a little warmer. Lois made the six turns that she needed to make after she reached the light at the end of her off-ramp. Her eyes slid past the motley selection of people roaming the city at quarter to eleven and when the ground floor of the _Planet_ came into view her palms started to sweat.

Into the parking deck and with her pass card, Lois took a spot nearest the elevator (which she never managed to get during the day) and started to seriously consider turning around and going back home. She sat for five minutes after she turned off the nearly silent engine and stared at the 'COMPACT CARS ONLY' sign without really seeing it.

'What the hell am I doing?'

A small, unsealed envelope slightly worn from having its contents taken in and out about fifty times sat peeking out of her purse. 'What the HELL am I doing?' Lois checked her reflection in the little lit mirror on the underside of the sunshade. The bottom of her stomach was missing and her cheeks looked pale.

'Shit!' Lois started riffling through her purse in a sudden fervor, looking for some blush and maybe some eye shadow. And some lip-gloss. 'Shit,' and some eyeliner. 'Shit!'

The second Lois had gotten home she had taken a shower, and as she wasn't supposed to be doing anything that even remotely resembled meeting Superman she had not put on any makeup and was sure to pick out the most casual 'I'm only going in to look something up' outfit she could think of. That way, after dinner and while tucking Jason in, she could huff that she needed a file from back at the _Planet_ and only had to grab her keys, allaying any suspicion and escaping the inevitable questions as quickly as possible. However, halfway through applying the blush and doing the little Left-Right Dance that was checking that everything was even, Lois stopped.

"What the hell am I doing?" she said aloud this time, scolding herself in the mirror. The eye shadow was in her other hand. Somehow putting on makeup made this seem a hell of a lot more like cheating. Or at least, being on the _road_ to cheating. 'What am I even thinking? Cheating? Why did I even THINK cheating? This is nothing, it's a conversation...' Her thoughts were already on the roof, her body was three months behind her, same roof, looking into wary eyes that knew they'd nearly kissed a long-taken woman. A forbidden fruit. Burning, burning, burning...

She started applying the eye shadow, but only the lightest shade and very subtly. 'Lip gloss yes,' only, she thought, as a fail-safe, to stop her from kissing him. A trick in the Lois Lane arsenal was that she never wore lip gloss when she wanted someone, there was no more annoying feeling than having a sticky, fruity substance smeared all over the place in the middle of a...

'Shit,' and Lois slammed her head into the steering wheel, 'Shut up, shut up, this is not a fucking lay, put your lip gloss on and get out of the car.'

Lois didn't stop by her desk on the way to the roof and hit R immediately upon entering the elevator. The cabin seemed foreign, like she had not used it nearly everyday for nine years, and everything seemed louder, from the doors closing to the gentle ascent. Lois was pacing, her heart was racing, the speech she planned was racing away from her synapses, suddenly she was left nervous and alone with her thoughts, the 35th floor gave way to the 36th, she thought wildly about hitting the Emergency Stop button, 'Let _him_ wait on goddamn roof for five years!' Her panicked thoughts stopped on the idea of pizza for some reason, and then the soft ding announced the roof.

Lois stepped out into the little weather-proof, steel enclosure that was the entrance to the roof and made her way past the stairs and towards the fireproof door in front of her. Aware that she could now be x-rayed at any second, Lois took pains to control her expression as her pass card went through the little reader on the right hand side ("What do I need roof access for? Shut up.") and her left hand turned the stainless knob, cool against her sweaty hand.

Hovering under the orange-ish lights that illuminated the globe clanking away on its servos above them, with his gaze directly out towards the city they both thrived for and cape blowing gently in the vortex that surrounded this and every building was...

He obviously heard her long ago, but turned only now as she closed the door behind her, "Good evening, Ms. Lane..." he quickly added, "Lois..."

And all the nervousness left her, to be replaced with reality.

In the instant that she met his eyes all thoughts of eye shadow and nervous anticipation at the thought of their rendezvous disappeared. The cold reality of the reserved misery on his face slapped all memories of late-night meetings and simple, flirty conversation from years ago right out of her. Lois realized what a fool she was, how out of time and place she had been on the way here. There was no reason to think about lip gloss, there were no furtive looks or renewed explorations here tonight, there was nothing but the cold, empty shell of a once burning passion.

'What the hell is wrong with me?'

She was struck dumb by it. Dumb and angry. Furious at herself for all the worthless thoughts about what she should wear and whether Richard was right to question her, she thought of how senseless it had been to worry about kissing him, to wonder about cheating on Richard, to even think about dancing a secret waltz with this creature who looked at her now like he wanted to flee. All the warm, sensual anxiety that she had refused to acknowledge now left her to be replaced with... nothing.

She had absolutely nothing to say. What was she going to say?

"Hi!" she squeaked. 'WHAT THE FUCK?' she thought!

She had been so into the interviews, so trapped in memories that she completely forgot that they were barely speaking! Today had been so familiar, too familiar, to the point where she convinced herself that... that...

She felt lost.

Superman was staring at her now, a little puzzled.

'Don't ask if I'm okay.'

"The interview...?" he prompted her.

'Interview? OH! Good idea! Okay, I can handle that,' and she moved to get her recorder and ended up dropping her purse in her haste. She closed her eyes briefly, mortified.

The eyeliner rolled out and he touched down gently to pick it up for her. As he came back up he stopped short at her staring at him. He looked down at her purse and bent to pick that up as well, taking a few steps closer as he did so. He placed the tube back inside the depths and reached past the little blue envelope to actually get her her digital recorder. He flicked it on with a shy smile and held it between them, like she always did. There, in that smile and that witty manner, was a hint of the man she used to know.

Lois was seized with the sudden urge to jump off the building, only because her overloaded and embarrassed mind could think of nothing better to do.

'In a different time and place he probably would have started to ask me questions to mock me, clearing his throat and saying something like, 'So Ms. Lane, what was your reaction to the hoax this afternoon and what do you think it says about the perpetrators?'' As it was though, he was just looking at her expectantly, at a reasonable distance and yet further from her reach than he had ever been, even halfway across the galaxy.

She put her hand over the recorder and gently pushed his hand down and away. Pure, energetic honesty was rising in her throat, pouring out her eyes and into him. When all else fails, go for broke.

"Who's your favorite baseball player?" She had no idea what made her say it. The June 4th interview that she had listened to four days ago had been on her mind all week. She hadn't asked him then, because she didn't care. Her voice was shaking.

His professional, detached interviewee face cracked. He looked surprised, but not upset.

"Active?"

"Active."

"Jack Baker, first base, .321 with 48 home runs and 128 RBIs last season." She had no idea what that meant. He raised his eyebrow, but still looked reserved.

"What do you like on your pizza?" This was from the elevator ride.

"Onions..." he looked wary now. He was still holding the recorder out in front of them, just lower.

"Your _second_ favorite book?" From the June 8th interview, which she had also listened to four days ago. A look of sudden comprehension came across his face, which still ended in looking even more wary.

"The Divine Comedy."

Good, she'd read that already in college, "What was the first thing you did when you realized you could fly?"

That broke through to him. That relaxed him. He smiled: the honest, amused smile that she remembered. His shoulders relaxed, a subtle change came across him. Lois realized that upon his letting go of his fear of _her_ that she relaxed a little, too. While he moved back in contemplation, Lois shifted her weight on her feet, tried to get more comfortable, looked across at the cityscape for the first time. He looked deep in thought.

"I don't really remember. I tried to make it happen again by jumping onto a roof and then stepping down..."

"What happened?"

"I just stood in midair." Beat. "And then I fell on my head." He smiled, Lois chuckled.

"But when you first realized that you could really fly, when you controlled it and realized you could go anywhere, what did you do, where did you go?"

"You won't believe me, but, Metropolis," he swung his arm wide, "The City of Glass," he spoke Metropolis' old moniker with awe and looked out across the city, "The biggest city in the world, a center of art, commerce, history, the avant garde. A great city of the world, like Paris, London, or Tokyo; a great city in history, like Rome, Athens, Carthage. I came _here._ I stayed hidden above the clouds, very young and definitely scared that I wouldn't find my way back. And," he laughed, "I got lost for three hours on the way home, had to stop and ask directions," he gestured backwards in time, using his hands to pass over words he didn't care to say, maybe about asking directions to Maine when he was in Oregon, "It was rather funny. I took up geography soon after that; I studied topographical maps. And I flew with a compass!" He laughed outright, "I should get a GPS, they try to track me anyway..."

"And when you were confident enough to cross an ocean?" This seemed like the next logical question, and he had anticipated it.

"France, the Normandy Coast. I went to Mont Saint Michel, a place I had been fascinated by my entire life, the first place to see on my list of life goals, before I even dreamed I could fly." She had never heard of it, but this was good...

"And?"

"The best three days of my life," he sounded wistful, full of yearning, "You know, you've reminded me of how much I haven't seen." He looked in from the city, back at her, "How can it be that I haven't seen all I wanted? I studied all those sights all those years, but I never found the time, or maybe..." He trailed off. The misery was starting to come back, Lois could sense it. She rushed to think of something to keep him out of it, tried to recapture the ease of their times past.

"Maybe?" She prompted.

But his look had darkened, the magic gone, "Never mind, it was an incomplete thought." He cleared his throat and made to hand her the recorder, "Aren't you curious about the burglary this afternoon?"

'Damn,' thought Lois. She looked back out at the city, remembered the times that he'd brought her through it, above it, around it; managing drafts above streets, circling buildings and seeing scenes from the lives of the inhabitants, and tried to imagine a young man, flying, not yet a hero, just trying to get a glimpse at the throes of civilization.

She turned back to him, stubborn.

"We'll get nowhere like this," she bit out.

"Wha-?"

"How are we ever going to move on?"

"Lo-"

" _What happened to us?_ "

She grabbed the recorder and threw it back against the door she'd entered from, shattering the personification of the professionalism between them. "Sit down!"

Superman stared at her, and then looked around, confused. Lois had a sudden image of them sitting cross-legged on the roof and brushed it aside.

"Never mind!" He looked more confused, and a little off-put.

"Take me somewhere."

Back to looking confused, he opened his mouth.

"Never mind!"

"Lois! _What?_ " He lost his patience.

"YES! Good! Stay like that and let's go."

"Where?" he bit back and gestured at the sky in comic exasperation.

Lois was trying to keep him off-balance, she was thinking wildly about how to get through this conversation, what step to take next. This seemed right; fuck the bullshit, the tip-toeing around each other, the sad little dance.

"France."

He stared at her.

"Lois."

"What? Fine. No France. Where would you like to go?" She crossed her arms.

He looked at her shrewdly, "Why did you ask me here tonight?"

"To clear the air."

"Of what?"

"This!" she motioned back and forth between them, "Look at us! Standing here, not being able to look at each other, we go weeks without talking, see each other in the street more than in private, you look sick at the sight of me, I stutter like a schoolgirl because I'm either so afraid of watching you bleed your misery out onto the floor _or_ worried that I'm going to kiss you at any second!"

He looked shocked at her outburst, was watching her pace up and down in front of the door, cracking small bits of plastic and metal beneath her shoes. "We used to be _friends_! We have a _son_!" He looked miserable again, "You want to know why I invited you here? Huh?"

She bent down, picked up her purse, picked out the small, blue envelope and shoved it in his face, "This is why."

He reached out gingerly and plucked the unsealed envelope out of her fingers with two of his own. He flipped open the top fold and shimmied a small piece of card stock out of the pocket. Lois watched him, suddenly terrified, second-guessing not only everything she said, but most especially having given him the envelope. She reached out to yank it back before he could flip it over. He paused, waiting for her to take it. She drew her hand back.

He turned it over.

Lois had let Jason pick out his birthday invitations at the local pharmacy and then spent an afternoon writing them out and addressing them at her desk. She had him gather all the addresses of his friends in daycare and then called the parents of his friends from school herself. Fifteen invitations made their way to mailboxes throughout Metropolis to be opened by little hands, about six made their way to family and family friends.

It made her want to cry to look at this beautiful creature before her scan the little Superman cartoon holding a balloon with the very same glinting blue eyes that he had bequeathed to his son. He looked up at her with an indescribable and completely naked expression. His mouth was open in surprise, his normally stoic and strong features looked anguished, his eyes begged her to answer his silent questions.

She looked down, ashamed at the nakedness of his stare, unable to look at him, "He was born in the middle of the day, 12:03, I asked for a room with a window and begged the doctors to open the shades; they couldn't understand why. The second the sunlight hit me the pain lessened, I didn't even remember that until recently. His eyes were white when he was born, it was the oddest thing..." she cleared her throat, offering him whatever she could think of, "He was 5 pounds exactly, small, the umbilical cord was attached lower than usual. He didn't cry, but I did..." Superman moved closer to her; she still wouldn't look up but was speaking directly to him, all the same, "I named him Jason because I have never known anyone by that name. He's never gotten sunburn in his life, he likes pickles, and he picked out the invitations." She offered a weak chuckle.

She paused.

"I wanted you to come, that's the reason behind tonight," she finally glanced up, his look was so intense it hurt, but she grit her teeth and took it, "I figured I could cover your presence by being 'Lois Lane,' I could explain that Jason asked for Superman for his birthday and I as the most awesome mom ever could deliver..." she trailed off a moment but regained her pace, "That is _in no way_ meant to make you feel like a clown or a pony ride," her voice rose in emphasis, "And it's only a cover for inviting you, not the other way around. I want you to be there, to see your... our..." she ended hopelessly.

'Wow. Wow, I'm dizzy, this is insane!' she thought wildly. She watched him watch her. His eyes moved down to her lips, she panicked, 'He's going to kiss me!' But it never came, his eyes moved back up her face, then down to the invitation. Lois held her breath, for what she did not know. Words of anguish, a sad rejection, wondering philosophies, hopeless realities, 'I'm sorry, Lois, but...', 'This isn't a good idea...'

"Do I really look like this?" he held up the one-sided invitation and pointed enthusiastically to the little cartoon Superman holding a blue balloon with his red and yellow shield on it. It was grinning and waving, but with a very serious expression on its face, like the artist was trying to convey the strength of character of an international hero, but with the sense of fun that comes with a K-6 birthday card. The absurdity of the question and that of the little character resulted in one of those snickers that starts in the back of the throat and ends up in your nose. Five seconds later Lois was laughing and pointing at him.

"Make the face!"

"No."

"Do it!"

"No."

"Look at your cape, oh my god, I didn't even notice, look!" and she laughed even harder, a bit hysterical with the situation.

"Who makes these?" he flipped over the card fruitlessly, "I knew I should have copyrighted myself, I'd own an island by now..."

Lois laughed again, finally calming and sharing a sincere smile with the father of her child. He sobered a little and engaged her, but still lightheartedly, "I would love to come, Lois. Thank you. And I in no way feel like a _pony_."

Lois chuckled, "Good." She sobered now, too, and took a deep breath that ended in a sigh.

"Listen," she began softly, indicating that there was much more to be said, "There's a lot we need to talk about, not the least of which is Jason. There's a shitload between us," she looked hopelessly at him, "And whatever mistakes we made we need to deal with, or at least ignore well enough before too much more time passes and there's a lot of reasons." That was a little too rambling. There was so much behind this door.

Lois glanced over at the ledge and made to walk over to it. She moved past Superman and hefted herself up onto the edge of the roof, nonplussed at the incredible height behind her unprotected back. She gestured to a spot across from her, he lifted off gently and sat down opposite her, intrigued.

"Before everything else, there's something I haven't told you, something very serious, and I want you prepare yourself for it," he looked worried, she moved on quickly, "Luthor knows Jason is your son."

" _WHAT?_ " he placed a hand out onto the surface between them and leaned forward, "WHAT?"

She nodded, "Jason crushed a man under a piano on the yacht, right after I sent a fax to the _Planet_ , and right before we were subsequently locked in the pantry you found us in."

He looked flabbergasted. She didn't blame him.

"That's why I was really very happy that the ship sank, because I'm not sure what would have happened had anyone suspected a five year old of killing someone..."

His expression was turning to utterly terrified.

"The good news is that Jason doesn't seem affected by kryptonite, at least not yet. And I figure, even if Luthor takes a full-page ad, no one will believe it. You are, after all, a different species, _and_ there's enough tabloid history between us that we could just play it off like we always did." Memories of poorly written headlines filed past her inner eye: 'LOIS LANE TO SUPERMAN: YOU'RE MY BABY'S DADDY!' "I was even thinking of hiring someone to make a similar claim so that it could be ridiculed and done with in the tabloid press."

"Spoken like a true journalist."

"Right?" she chuckled, "A positive, also, is that Luthor will probably keep this advantage to himself and plan for another year or so, like he usually does," Superman's face was dark and angry, "In the meantime, I would like to... well, I mean to ask you whether you think it's a good idea to..." she took a deep breath, "Jason should know you. Beyond the hero, before he gets too old I want him to know the man, the person I know, _you_ ," she gestured at the Superman sitting cross-legged on a ledge, not the Superman flying above the world against a background of spangled banners and explosions.

"In the hope that by the time he figures this out it'll be easier to accept a father-figure as a father rather than some other-worldly _thing_ ," she flapped her hand at the sky, "And if you foster his emerging powers, whatever they might be, we can teach him how to escape Luthor, or whatever other threats might come his way. Otherwise he'll be breaking his schoolmates' bones by accident and be oblivious to bald men with kryptonite candy..." she chuckled at her own joke.

This was met with silence.

"What do you think?" she said uncertainly, trying to read his expression.

"You want me in his life?"

Lois suddenly realized again that the workings of her mind had taken her away from place and time. The last time they had spoken about Jason, Superman had pretty much resigned himself to being written out of his son's life. To her, however, it was obvious that she wanted him in his life. Lois sensed the importance of relaying this moment to him properly. She reached out for him, and placed her hand on his.

"Yes." And left it at that. For some reason, perhaps to occupy himself in this awkward exchange, Superman looked down at the card that was still in his hand, pinched to stop it flying away in the wind. Lois looked down and read: 'WHO? Jason Lane, WHEN? August 11th' upside down. He was staring seriously at the little image of himself.

She waited. He seemed to reach a decision, looked up, and smiled shyly.

"Good. Good." She was relieved. The hardest hurdles had been jumped and with relative ease. She suddenly found herself comparing this conversation to the insanity that was telling a one-night stand whose last name she had never known that he was probably a father. She shuddered and moved on from that memory as quickly as possible, "If you would consent, also, um, I would like you to come back after everyone leaves, spend the evening with him on his birthday. We'll be alone..."

'Or, we will, if my plans come through...'

Superman nodded with a small smile, still looking down at the little characterature.

She rushed to say this next: "I didn't know he was yours until that moment." He looked up at this shift in conversation and cocked his head. Lois wondered why. It seemed so obvious to her that she should say that, considering his departure so long ago. Didn't he leave because of Richard? Didn't she hurt him by sleeping with him one night and someone else the next? That was her theory, at least, as to why he didn't say goodbye. She didn't want to bring this up, but wanted to offer more. 'Clear the air...'

"Just, well, just to let you know that I didn't hate you for leaving me barefoot and pregnant, or anything." An old ire rose, "I hated you for other reasons." She paused, "And I told you as soon as I knew, so you don't think I had kept it from you when you returned." It occurred to Lois that she was having a conversation with his facial expressions more so than with him. The tone of her voice, the gestures she made and the words she chose reflected how he looked at her from one moment to the next; his face was as open to her as it had been when he stepped back from their near kiss, wary and hurt.

"And don't start blaming yourself for the last five years, this is the shit we need to deal with, I know you, I know what you're thinking right now, all torn up and writhing in guilt, I can tell!" He looked mutely back at her, "So just stop it. Or ignore it until we can deal with it. We can deal with us later, we need to deal with Jason now, so don't let your self-loathing get in the way of parental honesty here." He looked cheered at this choice of words, "And I understand that you weren't expecting to return a father, trust me, I know the feeling, so I'll help you. The good news is that Jason is a well-adjusted little boy, he _has_ had a good father."

'Shit. I should not have said that.' Richard might as well have walked onto the roof, that's how suddenly his presence entered the conversation. Lois once again responded to his expression, "I... I don't know. I don't know what to do, what to tell him, _whether_ to tell him, I just don't know. I only brought it up so that you realize that you don't need to heap the guilt on yourself over him, he's fine." She fingered her engagement ring. Superman saw her. Suddenly Richard's spiritual presence on the roof became a lot more about being Lois' future husband than Jason's current father.

Lois ignored it. They sat, the both of them, in thoughtful silence. The rushing of late night traffic liberated from the jams of the day was whooshing past on the streets below. Lois reviewed their conversation, thought suddenly of the way he had looked at her lips. She felt like a teenager who just had a long and thorough conversation about her first crush with the boy in question.

"How big of a piano?"

"Really big."

He chuckled.

Superman's eyes swept her face and Lois had a feeling Jason was being forgotten; the fact that he chuckled rather than following up with some serious comment told her so. With the shift, Lois found herself watching _his_ lips now, looking closely at his face since she had not seen him properly in so long. She thought he had not aged a day.

"Are you immortal?" It was more a rhetorical question than anything; a sudden wonder at him, his physiology, rather than a comment on his youthfulness relative to hers, which was easily explained by the special circumstances of his intragalactic journey.

"I don't know," his voice the epitome of true uncertainty, "I hope not."

She didn't need to ask why.

"I've thought about it, wondered if my body will ever break down. I've seen so much death," they were staring out over the corner of the building to where the greatest view of the city was available past the Concord Building and down 32nd street, "I have a small store of kryptonite, hidden far away."

Lois looked around at him; despite the morbid suggestion in his unspoken words, his face was clear, the mood still neutral comfort. She recognized the familiar tone of the exchange from the tapes; the random topics, the general ease of meandering, human conversation.

They both turned about towards the view, "You _are_ human, you know that? You're entitled to self-pity, to hate, to failure, to death. Stop hiding." She wasn't sure how each point was leading to the other, but she wanted him to ask.

"Hiding?"

"Remember the small things, the little moments you used to share with the world? The post-crisis interviews, the jokes with the news, the projects you used to work on with NASA and NOAA, the kittens and little old ladies?" She saw his sour pout out of the corner of her eye, "Come down a little more often; stay when you get here. Like today. Jimmy's missed you."

"Aren't I entitled to being depressed, too? Wanting a little alone time?" His tone was wondering, teasing.

"Touché."

"What time is it?"

Lois looked at her watch, "11:15."

"What time do you need to be back?" If there was a bomb set to go off somewhere that only she could defuse (and there _was_ , and it was named Richard), Lois was now so determined to see this conversation through that she still would have said, "Whenever."

They sat in the same thoughtful silence, comfortable with each other for the first time since his return.

"What about you, Lois? What in this world do you want to see, what have you seen already?"

"You mean like you and the Pyramids of Giza and the Straits of Gibraltar," she said it in a teasing tone, a light airy quality of hearkening back to worlds lost, civilizations conquered, "You know that's not me so much. You and Clark should talk."

But he waited for an answer, none-the-less. Lois was suddenly pensive. Why didn't she have a similar list? Maybe not of ancient sites or wonders, but even just oddities, curious places where history took place or famous people stood. She chuckled at a thought.

"Maybe stay a night in the Watergate? That would be fun." What about natural wonders, beauties beyond human history?

"I've seen the Grand Canyon, and most of that shit across the States. Army brat," and she pointed to herself. What about works of art and the museums where they are housed, great buildings across the world?

Coming up short on this, Lois was suddenly off-put. It occurred to her that no one had ever asked this question of her, not even herself. She sat, thinking, and in the meantime turned the tables on him.

"What about you, while I think? Name one of the things you haven't done."

Now they were both thinking. Life went on all around them; sleeping bodies laid out in repose, drunken men and women tried to sate the loneliness in seedy bars, children begged to stay up late. Somewhere in the city someone was dying, somewhere someone was being born, drugs were being injected, laughter was getting infectious, a cab driver was going an unknown 45 down Haddonfield... Lois inhaled Metropolis like the scent of it was necessary to her vital life functions.

"Aura borealis from above, or below, or," he struggled with the terminology, "from the atmosphere."

"Ooooo, good one. That would be beautiful," she smiled at his blundering.

"Remember the meteor shower over Mexico?" Wrapped around each other in a fiery sky, Lois wanted nothing more than to have him right then and there...

"Of course," she made this sound nonchalant, "Oh! I've got one. Machu Picchu at sunrise, watching the ruins revealed as the mountain mists burn off..." she phrased this like he would and caught his eye over her shoulder, but stopped in thought again.

"You know, I curse at tourists' stupid questions and the way they clog up traffic downtown, but people the world over probably list Metropolis as one of their Places to See, just like you," she turned to acknowledge him and then back towards the view, "And I've never seen anything in all the time I've lived here. I mean I know the bars, the streets, the restaurants, and even the people, but I've never been to the Frelenhausen or the Deddon Building. Or the Boulevard Club, or even St. Lukes. And I've only driven down 32nd," she gestured below them, "While people come from miles around just to walk it. A city like you said, shining out in history with all the great buildings, museums, parks, and famous streets that a great city make, and I've never taken the time as a tourist. I don't know the history, I don't know the sights, I've never even _cared_ until about thirty seconds ago. And I pride myself on living here, on having my heart beat to the city."

She was all out of sorts again, a stranger in her own home. She stared down at 32nd, up there with the Champs-Élysées as one of the most famous streets in the world, _one she worked on_ , but had no concept of in the larger picture. Department stores opened their first stores here, jewelers cut diamonds for the rich of the world, one-of-a-kind fashions stared out on mannequins in windows with five digit price tags, and a world famous newspaper had its historic Art Deco headquarters here.

Superman was making movements to stand and Lois turned around to look at him, fearing their conversation over, looking to see if his gaze was directed inward, listening. But instead, he was looking down at her, waiting for her to follow suit. Lois unfolded her legs and slid down onto the roof, cringing as the blood made its way slowly back to her feet. She looked across at the shattered remains of the digital recorder Richard had given her.

'Shit.'

Superman held out his hand and the recorder was forgotten. She stepped up to him, kicking off her shoes, and unabashedly sliding her hands up his arms.

"Where are we going?"

"Why Metropolis, Ms. Lane! And we're going to _start_ by breaking into St. Luke's Cathedral."


	9. Intensity

_"Please enter your password."_

Tone, tone, tone, tone.

_"You have. THREE. unheard messages. First. message. sent. THURSDAY. August. second. at. Eleven. Forty-five PM!"_

Clark was tapping his pen on the desk in front of him, staring bleary eyed at the elevator, watching irate employees make their way out of the crowded cabin and to their respective desks. Clark counted no fewer than twelve people in the last load, and was taking bets in his inner monologue as to what the ratio was going to be of people who went straight to the coffee pot versus people who went straight to their desks. Clark had his cell phone to his ear and was forever irritated at how long it took to hear a message. The elevator was descending to get the next load of unfortunate souls to be evenly distributed throughout the building.

_"...click." Long pause. "To delete This message. Press. SEVEN..."_

Clark hit seven and waited.

_"Next. unheard message. Sent. FRIDAY. August. third. at. Twelve. Thirty-one. AM!"_

The elevator was ascending again. A number of people complained on an almost daily basis that while the building _is_ beautiful and historic and all that jazz, couldn't we just PLEASE tear it open and install a second elevator?

_"...(masculine sigh) click. To delete This message.. TONE."_

Clark rocked in his chair, trying to wake up out of the stupor he had been in since he woke up nose-to-nose with the ceiling that morning. Even the abrupt fall back into bed hadn't shaken the exhaustion from staying out all night. He hadn't woken up on the ceiling in _years_.

_"Next. unheard message. Sent. FRIDAY. August. third. at. Seven. Fifty-five. AM!"  
_  
Richard, sans the usual presence of Lois, appeared from behind the elevator doors and began walking, with much determination, right at Clark. He looked fierce.  
 _  
"I spent the night at the Planet."_ Lois' sleepy voice sounded in his ear seconds before Richard summed him up from right in front of his desk and shot a question at him like a High Inquisitor before the Spanish royals:

"Where was Lois last night?"

"I believe she spent the night here," Clark spoke without pause. He hit 'end' and turned quickly to regard Lois' desk, looking for a sign that this was in fact true. No evidence presented itself, but Clark thought the coffee he had thoughtfully flown her in from Italy this morning was either going to damn Lois or save her, being a helpful sign of an early morning coffee run or the proof that she hadn't been around if she showed the slightest hint that she wasn't expecting to find it there.

Richard had also snapped his head in the coffee's direction, steaming innocently from next to her keyboard, "Is that her coffee?"

'Obviously.'

"Yes." should he say more? Clark hated being in these situations. Lois didn't go home? Well, it might have been better that way; they hadn't stopped talking until 4:30 in the morning and he had dropped her back on the roof to gather her purse. Clark started in his seat as Richard followed up:

"It's not from the normal place."

Clark had nothing to say to this. 'That's right, it's from Milan.' Richard was a shrewd one, or else highly suspicious. Clark's mind thought wildly of knocking something over to defuse the situation when Lois' voice sounded from behind the steely gaze; Clark realized she must have come from the breakroom.

"That's because it's special, isn't it Clark?" she came up on Richard's left, smiling down at Clark and looking red-eyed, but alert enough to deal with the subtle spinning she was going to need to do to get out of this one. She turned to Richard, "Clark used to get me that coffee all the time, best in the city, yet he refuses to tell me where he finds it!" Her voice was light, the epitome of not having done anything even slightly suspicious, which Clark figured, she really hadn't. You know, from an outside point of view.

She turned back to Clark, "You know, I've been searching for five years, I thought the place must have closed." Richard was glaring at her.

Clark tried to keep pace, looking warily at Richard while Richard's gaze was directed at Lois and Lois' gaze was still directed at him, trying to relay to her that Richard was still on alert, "I figured that after pulling an all-nighter that you would need an extra strong pick me up."

The silent communication between the two of them was instant: Lois recognized that Clark was reaching the limit of his plausibility and Clark was assured that she acknowledged his gesture, both the coffee and the spin.

"Lois, we need to talk." Richard walked away, indicating that Lois should follow him. She shared one more significant look with Clark and went off after him. Clark tried, he really did, to not listen once Richard closed his office door a bit too hard.

" _You spent the night here?_ "

"Where else would I have been? I told you I was going in. I didn't mean to, I just sorta feel asleep..."

"You fell asleep? _Where?_ "

Jimmy was making his way in from the elevator, holding a plain envelope and heading towards Lois' desk. However, once his line of sight was able to move past her partial wall and he realized she wasn't there, he made off towards his own desk, shooting a smile at Clark as he passed and remarking, "TGIF!"

"On the couch, in the breakroom! I only just woke up now to Maurice making a fresh pot of coffee. Someone thought it was funny to cover me with yesterday's edition..." her voice trailed off with a weak chuckle.

Clark couldn't help it. He turned his head and applied the infinitesimal amount of energy it took to look through Venetian blinds. Just as he suspected, Richard was staring, glaring more so, at her. Lois was apologetic looking, but not the kind of look that says, 'I am sorry to disappoint you, I have failed, I am your servant!', but the patented, 'Um, sorry I acted in a way that was unexpected and somehow inconvenient for you, but get over it?'

Clark read her like a book. Richard did not.

"The breakroom couch," he said matter-of-factly, obviously expecting more of an explanation.

"Yup, I got tied up in research, found three more boxes than I anticipated, and by the time I was finished thought I might as well just catch some sleep rather than wasting the time going ho-" Simple logic, no harm done.

" _Wasting the time going home?_ Do you realize I needed to explain to Jason where mommy was this morning?" You're a terrible mother, lax in your obligations, this behavior is inexcusable!

"And you told him I was here..." So...?

"YES!" And what scandal it is!

"And?" This is hardly traumatizing for him, seriously, so he got to spend the morning with daddy, children aren't orchids...

Richard was staring at her. Clark thought this was a fundamental miscommunication. And frankly, a little difficult to watch. He pulled in his sight and his hearing to back around his desk and into his mind, cringing at the trouble he'd caused her. It was his idea to stay out, to try that window in the south tower of St. Luke's, and then to spend four hours in a pew talking about, well, everything. From Gothic architecture to the early immigrants to Metropolis who built the church to "Why St. Luke?" "Patron saint of glass!" to learning how to play an instrument, old friends from high school, what really happens when you sneeze...

Lois punctuated that thought by slamming open Richard's door and huffing her way back to her desk. Jimmy looked up and noticed the bad mood emanating off Lois, thought twice about approaching her (Clark guessed with the envelope he was holding), so he came over to Clark instead.

It was a well-known fact that no one did anything until at least 11:30am on a Friday. Then they went to lunch for an hour. And then nothing until 2:30. People the Bullpen over where chatting, sleeping, and playing games on their phones.

"Hey, CK!"

"Hey, Jimmy."

Jimmy gave a nod at Lois, whose desk was close enough to be in earshot, and she gave a half-hearted flap of her hand before popping the lid off her coffee and tearing open a sugar packet. He had provided a variety of sugars and other substitutes off to the side, which Richard had not seen. There were also two little creamers each of whole milk, skim milk, non-dairy creamer and half and half for her selection. He didn't know her taste anymore, as most other aspects of her diet had changed. She caught Clark's eye, held up the non-dairy creamers and natural "raw" sugar. He nodded his understanding for all eternity (or until the next change in diet), held up a hand indicating that he would like her remnants, and deftly caught two whole milks (she remembered!). He popped the lid off his own coffee and looked up at Jimmy, who had perched himself on Clark's desk.

"What's up?"

"Nothing," Jimmy yawned, "An all-nighter after all these years, Lois?"

Lois was, after all, still wearing sweat pants (the nice, formfitting ones that rich business women wear to the gym for pilates), a loose but attractive shirt that was longer than usual and hugged her hips, and beaded summer sandals. If Clark was expecting her to be irritated at this question, he was surprised at her sigh.

"Yes," another sigh, and then Lois let the lack of sleep take her over and she put her head on her monitor, blindly stirring her coffee.

"Research on the Henderson case? You really hate that guy."

"Yes I do, all my favorite CDs were in that car, fucking bastard," she kept stirring, "But I wasn't researching Henderson last night. Don't tell Richard."

Jimmy gave Clark an excited look and made some kind of swooping motion with his hand, which Clark assumed was to indicate flying with Superman. It looked more like an indecent proposal to a horse, or a hand gesture common to Rome during the Empire.

"What's wrong with your eye, Jimmy?" He asked to cover up the pause.

"I got shaving cream in it."

Lois laughed, fogging up her monitor, "You _shave_?"

Jimmy pouted at her, "I'll have you know I have a full and manly beard!"

"Good Olsen, now get the hell off that desk and do some work and maybe I'll lend you some chest hair! FILE SOMETHING!" Perry had walked in a bit later than usual, and if the parking ticket in his hand was any indication, he was a might angry. The few people awake in the immediate vicinity hurriedly minimized windows and put down their phones. They, like Clark, had probably assumed the editor-and-chief was already in his office. Jimmy, as usual, got most of the heat.

"Yes, Chief!" he slid off Clark's desk and hurried away.

Clark swiveled in his chair and leaned down to turn on his computer. What was he supposed to do today? He had a plan, it was just lost in his exhaustion. Oh, he was going to call the DA's office...

"Did you manage to find your way to Mount Saint Michelle in your world journey, Clark?" came out of nowhere.

'Darn.'

Clark turned slowly to Lois. 'Lie lie lie lie lie lie lie, it's not like you went there during the last five years, there was no 'world journey,' you can just lie!'

"Why, yes I did, Lois."

He hated the mire of occasional parallels between him and Superman that Lois would unwittingly discover. It was a long-standing internal debate about how much he should reveal about either personality; he was constantly having to sift through his memory about who had said what, wonder at whether or not Lois would pick up on one thing if he said another, ask a question of either of them about the other.

"Who's Saint Michelle?"

"Um, it's _Saint Michel_ ," such subtleties of the French language were probably more than should be expected from Lois at this hour, "Michael. The archangel."

"Oh. Good, I've at least heard of that one," she paused, "What's so special about it? It's a mountain?"

"Well, sort of..."

Clark tried to direct her attention away from Mont Saint Michel by going off about St. Michael himself, and then the Alps, but Lois did not let him get very far and he ended up having to invite her to roll herself over to his desk while he did an image search. In the meantime he tried to make his knowledge of the island seem as Clark-esque and inexpert as possible. He was really getting tired of this illusion, what was the point now, really?

"So I ended up getting stuck in the mud and was up to my calves by the time anyone noticed me, waving a baguette at the shoreline and trying to get someone's attention..."

Lois was laughing at this ridiculous story, which was based off the combined wanderings of a full three days compacted to sound like it had happened all in the space of a few hours since his bus tour of elderly nuns ("I booked it in French, I don't really know why they thought that was what I wanted...") was waiting for him in order to get back on the road (which hadn't happened on that trip, but the next).

Fortunately for Clark, Jimmy walked into the conversation about five minutes in and helped bolster the story from all angles by relaying how Clark had sent him a postcard from there while he was away (Clark had collected them around the world for years, and was lucky to have a stash on hand for his trip). Lois and Jimmy pointed at the picture on the monitor for awhile and then Lois retold Clark's story about the motherly advice he'd gotten from the South American nuns, but with many snide remarks and mocking embellishments. Clark made a mental note to never mention any knowledge of Gothic architecture as Clark for all his days and cursed his passion for art history. He then added to the list _all history and hagiography_ in general and wondered why on Earth he'd said so much last night about sights around the world and pilgrimage churches and medieval kings.

Lois knew that _Clark_ loved history. Damn.

Lois and Jimmy were sharing a 'remember when' by the time Clark stopped berating himself.

"No no, that's not how it happened, you're definitely wrong, Jimmy!"

"You did, Lois, you did! And _then_ you cursed out the _Archbishop of Metropolis_! It was May of..." he struggled to remember the year, "MAY, though, because it was my birthday week and you offered to bake my cake with holy water in it!"

"It was six years ago and I did not!"

"You did too! You poured some on Clark and threatened to exorcise him after you stole that bottle from Bishop Infante!" Jimmy looked at Clark for support.

"You did," Clark confirmed.

"See?" Jimmy was laughing.

" _That_ was his name!" Lois' face cleared in realization.

'Move away from the idea of St. Luke's and archbishoprics, away, away...'

Clark was indeed quite thrilled that Lois had taken such a renewed and focused interest in him. She was reading his favorite book, _went to a baseball game_ (which was something that could not be overstated), and had been interested enough in his passion for travel that she asked a co-worker for additional information. But this seemed like very dangerous ground, and he really wanted to move away from the subject as quickly as possible.

'Say something unrelated!'

"Hey, Lois?"

He had interrupted her mid-response and she shot a quick, " _What_ , Smallville?"

"Does, um, Richard have my cell number?"

This knocked the argument out of Lois and she rolled back a little from Clark's desk, bumping into him a little in her haste.

" _Why?_ "

"Well, I received two voicemails last night from an unfamiliar number and you seemed to know that he would ask me where you were first thing this morning..." he trailed off at her harsh look. He picked up his phone, opened his call log, and showed her the number.

"He asked for it, yes, weeks ago when we were assigned together, just in case he couldn't find me in an emergency," she gestured over her shoulder as if daycare were right next door and not five floors down on the other side of the building, "But he called _you_ last night, why not me?" she said this last bit more to herself. Clark had figured Richard probably _had_ called her, but she left her cell on the roof and probably went to sleep on the couch as soon as she got back to the _Planet_. But certainly it was just because he was concerned...

"He was probably concerned, you know, since you haven't spent many nights here recently..."

She was still pondering, but added, "Yeah, I know. But I told you because I knew you came in very early and wouldn't ask too many questions, not because," she said this next part wonderingly, "Not because I thought he would call you. I told him I was going alone; I mean I would expect it if I were using you as a cover..."

Clark appreciated this honesty, whereas most people would have been incensed at the implication that they should be used as a 'cover.' As Lois rolled back across the aisle, slipping in the cutest way (Clark surged with fondness for her as she cursed the sandals, pushed off harder than necessary, and collided with her own desk) Clark found his mind back where he had initially wanted it this morning: on Jason.

He had not yet properly reeled from the conversation last night, since the sudden shift in Lois and into their old rapport had him more in the moment than in the over-arching, broad implications of being an active father. He meant to spend his morning contemplating this new feeling. Knowing you had sired an offspring is one thing, being invited into said offspring's life made it more about being a _father_ to a _son_ than a genetic component in a human being. Half a human being. A one-of-a-kind being. _Jason_.

Clark sat back in his chair, suddenly panicked. Should he be reading some kind of book, maybe? The Idiot's Guide to Parenthood? Or perhaps take the time to meditate on _his_ father, on the things _he_ cherished and appreciated most, the ideas and ideals passed on to him? Clark's thoughts were moving quickly through incomplete thoughts and realizations about responsibility, affection, leading the way through life; he thought suddenly of his mother, of _finally_ telling her she was a grandmother, something he had not wanted to do until he knew for sure whether she might ever be able to be a part of Jason's life. Now at least it seemed a distant possibility rather than a cold, hard, 'no!' He froze in renewed panic at _that_ conversation. He cringed, wondering how to steel himself for it.

Clark looked over at Lois. 'I have no idea what I'm doing!' he thought desperately at the side of her head, 'Birthday party? Should I bring a present? Does Superman bring presents?'

Lois was reading her e-mail innocently, unaware of Clark's agony. Her voice came back to him, though, soft in conversation: _'I understand that you weren't expecting to return a father, trust me, I know the feeling, so I'll help you.'_

Clark tried to calm himself. He would just simply ask Lois whether he should bring a present. Oh, and _Clark_ had to come up with a good excuse for not going to the party when the invitation came his way, _if_ it was coming his way... He thought seriously again about contemplating his own father, something he had not done in a long time, and figured that was a good course of action. He also thought back to the first interviews he had with Lois when, owed to her insatiable curiosity, he had learned more about his powers in a few short months than in all the years he had experimented back home through maturity. Remembering these moments and illuminating conversations would aid in Jason's acceptance of his own powers, whatever they may be. Clark's mind drifted off into hypotheticals about Jason and his half-preterhuman heritage as he stared off into space, daydreaming with the rest of the early morning Bullpen, staving off the worry with a logical course of action...

And so it was that when Richard's voice suddenly broke the nearby silence, Clark - heavily sedated in thought and physical exhaustion - let out a mighty "AH!" and literally _threw_ his coffee (which at that point was in his hand on the way to his mouth) up and into the pillar above Betty's desk.

The evenly toned, "I'm sorry, Lois." was punctuated by an explosion of lukewarm coffee onto Betty and her near scream of shock. Clark had always had a sincere problem with being startled by sudden voices, ever since he was a child, which was remedied by super hearing at about thirteen years old. He must have pulled his hearing in again.

Richard, Lois, Jimmy, Clark, Kyle, and Heather stared in shock at Betty as Clark practically fell out of his chair, overcome by bumbling apologies and heartfelt regret at the incident. He ran to the break room for paper towels and offered to clean the whole thing and pay for dry cleaning. The bottom of his suit was getting stained with coffee as he blotted Betty when Richard, after being apparently dumbfounded into observant silence by the sheer level of clumsiness that Clark seemed to possess (long after everyone turned back to their business) continued to address Lois:

"I, uh, _am sorry_ , Lois," Richard's voice got its strength back, Clark didn't need to expand his hearing to listen to the exchange, "It was just unexpected."

"I understand, it's okay," came Lois' warm response. She smiled in relief, indicating that she really wasn't looking for a fight despite it all, and leaned up for an innocent kiss. Clark glanced over just as it happened.

Human intelligence has a way of ignoring the bouts of instinctual thoughts that descend upon highly evolved faculties without any notice. For instance that sudden surge of terror when you _know_ you're safe in a movie theater, but you think a murderer is stalking the audience from on-screen; or the blood freezing in your veins for the brief second you once _believed_ a smoke alarm was not just a fire drill; or the inhuman aggression that possesses a parent whom _perceives_ a threat to its child. These are startling, disturbing departures from the normal, rational thoughts that most people are used to. And Clark, human in nature but not in body, was quite suddenly overcome by such an event.

And it was blind rage.

In the first instant he was confused to find himself suddenly itching to not only throw a desk at Richard, but point out to Lois everything negative about the man, including about a thousand points that he was sure he was inventing. Coming short of screaming that he was all wrong for her for reasons unknown and then absconding with her to a sun-drenched Italian coast to make passionate love for two weeks, he stood with dripping paper towels and wondered at the jealousy raging in him.

'Don't apologize! Don't explain why you were wrong! Keep fighting! Push all her buttons! Make her leave you! Give her to me!'

These thoughts were spiraling through him at the speed of light; he was full of rage, selfishness, ire.

"Ow!"

Lois looked around at Richard, curiously.

"That was weird, it felt like a hot wire was just pressed to my shoulder," Richard was already rubbing the spot curiously, rolling his arm in its socket like he was feeling if anything was out of sort.

"Maybe it was a pinched nerve," Lois offered.

Clark outright panicked.

' _Did I just BURN HIM?_ ' Normally the epitome of calm in the worst of scenarios, like, the end of the world, Clark was now experiencing what he assumed was _freaking out._

"More towels! Got to get more towels, janitor!" and Clark ran (as fast as one can run in a room full of desks) towards the stairs, not even pretending that he could wait for the elevator in this state of high agitation. He slammed open the door, slammed it shut, and pressed his back up against it for support. A second later he ripped the glasses off his face and pinched one of the lenses between his thumb and forefinger. Sure enough it was warm. He held it up to his eye and the glass was slightly wavy in the fluorescent light of the stairwell.

"My god," he spoke aloud, his voice hollow in the barren, concrete space, "What just happened?" he asked the glasses desperately. He stepped away from the door and looked around at it, but not through it, thinking wildly that facing that direction would help explain something. He had never felt that way about Richard, had never hated him, had never wished ill upon him, despite loving Lois, despite watching her embrace him, despite watching the gentle familiarity between them that spoke of years together.

He hadn't lost control of his powers in _years_ , and hadn't hurt someone by accident in _decades_. He sought explanations from his ruffled mind.

'It was last night, last night, being with her, being comfortable with each other again. That was it, I had some hope, and this time I knew she was lying to him for me, knew she was seeking me out over him, I was just entertaining wild thoughts, that's it.'

One of the hardest parts of watching Lois from afar now was this 'long-term' _thing_ ; Clark had known about one night stands, had _seen_ her in the laps of other men, but never for more than a night, never for more than a simplistic, basic exchange. This time, it spoke of love, of commitment, of _home_. That was much, much more difficult to watch. Maybe Richard had finally become a personification of Clark's lonely vacuum, a man who had everything Clark wanted...

He thought back to the brief time between his return and learning about being Jason's father, that time when he harbored secret hope that he might outshine Richard in her life, get her back. This was obviously reborn last night, and watching Lois skirt around Richard in order to be with him renewed the hope a thousand fold. He secretly enjoyed their fighting, wanted Richard to be angry, wanted Lois to defy him for his sake, wanted her no matter what...

Clark leaned his head against the door, berating himself. How could he? How could be write off Richard like that? How could write off the last five years of Lois' life? He'd had this conversation with himself back when he first returned, but then it had been a small thought somewhere, not a rage that ended up _physically harming someone_. Reminding himself of this frightened him.

'It was just a reaction to being so angry, just like when my strength increases when I'm scared or my speed increases when I'm desperate, it was just a thoughtless reaction.'

However, having explanations only helped so much. Clark was still ashamed of himself for his jealousy.

_"You're entitled to self-pity, to hate, to failure, to death."_ Lois had seemed to know everything that was bothering him, not only now, but for the last three months. This is why he loved her; no sooner did they speak again and her concern for him was soothing his worries, correcting his errors, endearing him to her all over again.

He spent about ten minutes in the stairwell, breathing deeply and employing long neglected disciplines of the mind, meditating, soothing himself, and shielding his actions from his impulses as he had learned under instruction so long ago. Finally, convinced that it was a fluke born of three months in the fire of longing for Lois, Clark emerged from the stairwell. While for him the world had just tilted a little on its axis, nothing was out of place in the Bullpen. No accusing or suspicious stares were directed his way, and while Clark felt everyone should be looking at him in harsh judgment of his terrible misdoings, only Betty even gave him a second glance when he walked past. He smiled sheepishly and told her he had not seen the janitor.

"BRIEF! NOW! Last one in gets to give my wife a liver!"

Pushing all thoughts aside and promising himself to spend some more time in meditation this evening, Clark brushed past Richard and Lois on the way back to his desk to get his regular supply of two pens and a legal pad.

* * *

"I don't give a damn _who_ turned you away, you get that interview!" Perry was irritated, which was really the point from which all other lines were drawn in his life, anyway. He turned his head a little to the right.

"Ahhh, Frank, tell me, how is the First Lady?"

Frank opened his mouth- "AND WHERE ARE THE PICTURES FROM THAT EXCLUSIVE! I'm on _medication_ because of you, you have five minutes, OLSEN, help him." And the two baby faced men tripped over people on their way out the door and towards the processing room on the 4th floor.

'Blood thinners. Do you know how difficult it is to get through life without whiskey?'

"NEXT! Yes, Health, good job, take the rest of the day off." The rest of the conference room looked at Health, sour faced and bitter at the rare show of good favor.

"SCIENCE!" Rao jumped, twitchy little thing, "Melting ice caps, because I don't give a shit if Conservative Radio says it's passé, I still want to know!"

"Lois!" Lois was resting her chin sideways against the high shine of the conference room table, feeling around by feet for the pen she let roll off the table at almost every brief that she was able to sit at for the last _nine years_. Clark, as usual, handed her the second pen he always carried for her like a torch of never-ending love and devotion, "Dead yet?"

"No."

"Shot at yet?"

"No."

"Addicted to coke yet?"

"No."

"Staked out yet?"

"Tonight."

"Great." He turned to Clark, "With her, Kent?"

"Yes."

"Just fantastic. You'll conquer evil together, you will."

A few head-shaking smiles floated through the room.

Perry sighed and hung his head, "Sports?" he gave a dramatic pause, "Trades? New manager? Anything, please, give me some good news." Sports didn't say a word, "Fine, get out, all of you."

* * *

Lunch had been a rare treat for Jimmy, as Lois decided to stay around the office near the noontime hour rather than dragging Clark out by the tie or stomping out on her own adventures for the afternoon. Instead, Lois and Clark took their lunch with Perry, Richard, and him.

They went to Lois' favorite bar, which luckily had a relatively good kitchen, and each ordered bar pies with a different topping and then all traded, save Lois who only got the veggie toppings. Conversation had been good, there was booze, Clark insisted on getting Richard's beer and apologizing for nothing every time he finished one.

Jimmy had suggested they rent one of the hokey trivia machines, favorite of regular drunks the world over, and thereby started an all out cage match between Lois and the rest of the table. She had snagged Clark as a team member before Jimmy even finished his sentence, and while he gave most of the answers, Lois was the one who mocked the rest of them for their dismal performances the entire cab ride back to the _Planet_.

He had sincerely missed the way the days used to pass when Clark was around, because beyond having a friend back, life was more enjoyable when Lois was on target. She was never as fast, as funny, or as furious as when she was bouncing her spectrum off Clark's mirror. Jimmy realized that it was almost as if the last five years had not happened, not so much for it being back to the way it used to be (which it was), but for the fact that Jimmy didn't feel the need to even remember that time. He had been, quite frankly, _lonely_ and now felt like he had part of his family back.

He smiled around the table and raised his shot glass in a toast with the rest of them (Lois had championed The Dessert Shot many years ago). He pinched his nose and tilted his head back, but nearly choked as he heard Lois try to embattle a hesitant Clark with the cry of, "Cowboy up!"

* * *

Back at the office after their rather silly lunch, Clark called the DA and watched Jason fold paper airplanes at Health's empty desk, as Lois had asked him to keep half an eye on the most fascinating thing in the room while she ran something downstairs. Fridays, being so lax in general to begin with, was also the day that various parents would bring their young into the bullpen family, to be reared by the community of foul-mouthed and brusque bad examples. Todd had just shown Jason how to fold little fins into the wings and had pointed at Guy, indicating that Jason should use him as a target.

"I am aware that all assets were frozen, but didn't they go up for state sale yet, Henderson was incarcerated over a year ago..."

Jason threw his plane. Clark, now a proud father, was sure to watch its progress. It went straight up, looped, and landed not five feet from Jason.

"I told your secretary, my name is _Clark Kent_ , we used to have lunch on odd Wednesdays..."

Jason threw another plane, this time compensating for the initial lack of momentum and it made its way halfway to Guy. Clark tried to get Jason's attention by waving at him and making gestures with his hand meant to indicate an embrace of advanced aerodynamics.

"The public has a right to know what's going on at that property, there must be something you can tell me..."

Jason threw his third plane, this time embellished with blue squiggles, and blew at it. Clark sat forward suddenly, terrified. No extraordinary gust of wind made its presence known, but Clark had had enough of this call anyway. He had a swift surge of pity for Lois, now on the constant look-out for singed wallpaper, broken toys, or frozen anything.

"Alright, fine Mr. Icharo, that's fine, I'll mind my own business, thank you."

He hung up the phone and stood up, stretching the heavy lunch out of his muscles and making his way over to Jason, all irritation forgotten. He glanced at the news monitors as he went, checking to see if the world needed him at the moment. It did not, at least not at a "Breaking News!" level, and he crouched next to Jason and began folding a plane.

"Here, Jason, I'll show you how to aim!"

* * *

Richard followed Lois out the elevator and into the Bullpen, in the midst of discussion. He had bumped into her downstairs in Archives and as enough time had passed since their disagreement this morning, had thought it was time to bring up something he had wanted to run past her. As they passed the desk that Jason was stationed at, Richard witnessed a paper airplane fly from Jason's little hand and into Guy's ear. Clark cheered from next to him, patting him on the back and pointing enthusiastically at Guy to Lois and Richard. Lois chuckled from next to him and waved back mockingly.

"You'd never figure Clark for an anarchist."

Guy was glaring and rubbing his ear, "Whose idea was it to put staples in the nose, huh? Come on, guys!"

Clark was shaking his head, adamantly refusing that he had anything to do with it. Richard shook the image from his head and turned back to Lois.

"Are you sure it's a good idea?"

" _Yes_ , Richard, it sounds like a lot of fun, you'll leave long after the party is over, I'll put Jason to bed early, he'll probably be tired anyway, _just GO_!"

"But..."

"Richard! You've haven't spent any time at the club lately, you haven't flown since May, it sounds like fun, hell, I didn't think those people even knew how to think up such an interesting idea. Even _I_ think it's fun, _go_!"

Richard had to agree. It was only due to the singularity of a group flight plan that Richard had even considered it when he found his monthly newsletter on the couch two nights ago. It was like a road trip with the guys, but with planes. He had until today to register, it had been announced months ago.

One good thing about having Lois as a significant other is that she didn't immediately go nuts about the idea of him being a pilot. There was no, 'But, that's so _dangerous_ , what would happen to _me_ , Richard, should you get _hurt_ , can you _imagine_ how I worry?' He was being a hypocrite for bugging her about her smoking, but he justified it by worrying about Jason getting the habit when he was older. And he _was_ asthmatic...

"Richard." Lois was trying to get his attention. "GO! And now get out of my way. Piss off, I'm busy." And she walked away, just like that.

'Alright. I'll go. Deal. What do I pack?'

Uncle Perry burst out of his office, shattering his thoughts.

"Fifty dollars, right here, right now!"

"Double it, I'll double it Perry, there's NO. WAY." An older man that looked familiar but un-namable stomped out after him, digging for his wallet.

"OLSEN! Find me an ATM! LOIS! COME HERE!"

" _What_ , Perry, _what?_ I'm busy!"

Uncle Perry came to a halt at her desk and slammed his debit card down.

"Tell him you know how to waltz, and that Kent taught you, and you did it together at that _fricking_ ," Jason was in the room, "Golden Globe or Emmy Grammy Oscar thing."

Richard had no idea how to contemplate that sentence.

"He's out of his mind, Matt."

"KENT!" Perry bellowed past Lois and then added in a stage whisper right to her, "Isn't it unlucky that Bouncy over there blushes when he lies?"

"Um, yes Chief?" Pretending he didn't hear him.

"Did you teach Lois to waltz?"

"Um, yes."

"Did you then waltz with her at an event?"

"Um, yes, on assignment at the Oscar's."

This impressed Richard, aside from all the shock, he was actually impressed by them having covered the Academy Awards.

"One hundred dollars. Right now."

"Prove it."

"OLSEN! Archives! Go!"

Betty's calm voice came from outside the focused circle, "Actually, there might still be a copy on someone's computer, that was a favorite."

If you can pinpoint a certain moment in a certain day that starts the tear in the fabric of your reality, then you can hopefully chart how it all went wrong after that. Such a pattern of moments in the tapestry of Richard's consciousness would probably be shaped like the silhouette of Clark Kent and Lois Lane _waltzing_ at the after-party of the Academy Awards seven years ago. Oh, he also learned all about the scandal they were chasing down and the page tearing, explosive journalism that followed (headlines, that was what defined Lois and Clark). But there it was, and Richard just couldn't get over it. The two irregularities juxtaposed so closely: that Lois _would dance_ , and that Clark _could dance,_ and _well_. He watched them weave across the dance floor in a flurry of improbability.

And he was pretty sure there was no _waltzing_ after awards shows in the 21st century.

Richard glanced across at Clark, standing at the other end of the semi-circle of onlookers at Jimmy's computer, and saw a man just as enthralled as he was by the image. While everyone else was laughing, pointing, or yelling about ATMs, only Clark looked completely mesmerized. Richard kept wondering lately what his uncle was hiding from him about Clark. Now he thought it might be right in front of him; maybe it was just that no one else could really see it, but for all the joking about puppy love, Richard could not help but think that Clark Kent _burned for her_.


	10. The Longest Day

"Wow, Smallville. You look like shit."

Clark sighed and let his initial welcoming posture sag off his shoulders as he moved back from the door for Lois, letting the movement serve as an invitation over the threshold. He was _exhausted_.

"It's nice to see you, too. You're early, let me just grab my shoes..." and he made his way into his bedroom, letting the door close behind him with a soft click. This would not be perceived as rude to Lois, which he appreciated, and he started looking around for his shoes in the dim light, opting for the older, more worn-in pair as a compromise for still wearing his suit pants and shirt. Clark liked to maintain a very predictable pattern of dress in front of Lois, either cheap suits from Wedsworth's ("You know Clark, when I walk past that store on the way to my pizza guy I can see what you'll be wearing next season.") or hand-made suits from across the galaxy, as visual distinctions were an integral part of the illusion that was his life.

So, if he was going to sit in a stuffy car all night, he might as well have comfortable shoes. He found them under the bed with his x-ray vision, got down on one knee to reach for them, and stood up to regard himself in the mirror. He ran a hand through his hair and let out an audible sigh to his reflection.

He found Lois staring up at the unusually high ceilings in the living room a few minutes later. He was pleasantly surprised to hear the rather awed, "Did you design this yourself, Clark?"

"Um, yes, I did. It was inspired by a magazine, though..." He continued at her intrigued look, her arm still raised in reference to the intricate pattern of stripes, varying in color and width, which ran vertically up the largest wall of his living room. An ornate wall clock hanged in the middle as the focal point of the space. "My mom suggested I make an effort this time to, well, make myself a _home_ instead of an _apartment where I sleep_. I was uh, a bit lost in spirit when I returned to Metropolis," he said this quietly, offering her something in return for her recent confessions to him, "And that was her advice to me. I can really only afford one major change at a time..." he gestured to his sparse furnishings (most of which clashed terribly with the subtle hues in the wall) and then through to the harsh, yellow kitchen that lacked any embellishment.

"Well, it's beautiful, honestly. This only took you three days?" she stood contrapposto and gestured back at the wall, her black slacks distracting Clark as they twisted tight against her legs when she turned. He gave himself a moment to hunger for her before sitting on his ottoman and slipping on his shoes.

"Well, the masking was the hardest part, really. That took some time, with lasers and rulers and, well, a lot. The paint was easy, it only needed two coats, so one coat was Wednesday morning, then Wednesday night, and then I took down the tape yesterday." He began doing up his shoelaces, "I need to touch up in several places, you see where the paint peeled away with the tape?" he slipped on his other shoe. It was all true, except it went a lot faster that Lois probably imagined it, and as he listened to the world news every night while working, he had to make a lot of detours in the middle of superspeed measuring.

"Ahhhh..." She still sounded impressed; he smiled to himself and stood up. This was understood as a signal to end simple conversation and Lois dove right in while they headed for the door. Clark picked up his briefcase.

"Henderson worked out of three primary buildings at the height of his operation, two of those smaller structures were subsequently rented out to other, legitimate companies, leaving the third and largest building in question."

Clark flicked the lock on the inside of his door and closed it behind them in the hallway. They started towards the elevator past pleasantly wallpapered walls; Clark _did_ live in an exceptionally nice building. He temporarily justified it as karma.

They were waiting for the elevator.

"I know the area and I have an idea where we can stash ourselves without the police thinking we're suspicious."

The doors opened. Clark braced himself for another all-nighter with Lois, two in the space of thirty-something hours, and despite being very tired, grinned at the thought of it.

* * *

"Have you ever noticed," whispered Lois in the twilight-like glow of the dark car, "That people look at the radio when they're listening to it?"

Clark stared at her. They were listening to the baseball game. Or rather, Clark was and Lois couldn't help asking questions that he took the time to answer.

This time, however, he needed more information.

"Please elaborate."

They were parked on the top floor of a newly constructed parking deck, across from a dilapidated warehouse that had been spared the wrecking ball in the recent 're-development' of the South Side, "Okay. When we talk to one another, we look each other in the eyes - well, at least in this culture, bear with me - when the sound isn't actually there."

Clark loved the rare occasion when Lois would make quirky observations like this. Usually her keen eyes were reserved for true puzzles not everyday occurrences.

"...because we acknowledge intelligence in the eyes, and watch _them, and not the mouth_ , which is where the sound is really coming from. And with a radio, we don't look at the _speakers_ or the _antenna_ ; we look at the _display_."

He blinked at her.

"That's fascinating."

He turned to look at the radio.

"And the tying run is on first..." interjected a worried voice over the conversation of the two actual commentators...

"I'm telling you, you can't teach a cat tricks," said a deep voice.

"Now, listen, you can't tell me that an intelligent species- " This voice was higher and spoke faster. Clark told her this was the voice of the announcer, the conveyor of the game.

" _What?_ They aren't _dolphins_ , Steve" said the deep voice-

Lois turned to Clark, he offered, "Color analyst. He provides anecdotal insight into the game and the players."

"And it's even up, two and two, Spencer at the plate!" interjected the first voice in a pause of conversation, obviously trying to compensate for the conspicuous lack of information coming from the commentators.

"Did you ever notice yourself going crazy when you were very tired?" Clark asked her back, "To the point where you start thinking that you're hallucinating?"

She reached out a finger and pressed it softly to the tip of his nose, "Welcome back, Smallville."

* * *

A few minutes later the announcers were talking about bakeries. Lois was staring out the windshield, thinking about cannoli...

She spoke up, "Do they just go on like this?"

"Sometimes, yes."

"Fantastic," she leaned over and picked up her purse, once again defeated by the almighty 'baseball.' She couldn't listen anymore; she had better things to occupy her mind. Lois dug around the bottom of her purse and pushed aside a mirror, hair clip, batteries, mace, cell phone (on silent), lighter, pencil, cork, single knee-high stocking, Jason's spare inhaler, and a tube of aspirin.

"Ha!" She unraveled the ear buds from around her old tape recorder and smiled at Clark.

"We can both listen to what we want, would you mind lowering that?" Lois looked out the windshield while he did so, surveying their quarry. Then she leaned back and fumbled in the darkness with the familiar machine. Clark seemed to relax a little and sat back, shifting to get comfortable. She suddenly grinned at him without his seeing; Clark was _hilarious_ to her, often for no reason, even for just the way he struggled to make himself smaller.

"Comfy there, drunky?" She had been calling him that at least once a day for three days, which was insignificant in itself expect that it indicated an unspoken promise to call him that _forever_. Lois pressed the lever to raise the steering wheel so she could move her legs.

"Yes, Lois. Thank you."

Lois noted this sarcastic response in the files of her mind.

Lois sat back, put her ear buds in and went to push the little triangular 'play' button. She hesitated and turned to look at Clark again, awkward with long limbs all tangled in a small space. She could see his ghostly reflection in the passenger window and thought he looked lost. She stared at him for a moment, overcome with nostalgia. The rear windows were open and letting a cool August night sneak in, and the car smelled like upholstery and fresh concrete.

She popped out an ear bud.

"Hey, Clark?"

"Mmmm?"

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Always, Lois."

"Do you like Richard?"

His face changed in the glass; he turned to regard her, the baseball game still audible.

She went on to clarify, "Is he agreeable, a nice guy, honest, funny?" She was always exactingly precise with her questioning, even of her confidants.

Clark hesitated, but answered, "I have never had any reason to dislike him, he's always been agreeable and honest as far as I know. I don't know if he's funny." He made a hopeless gesture, which Lois read as the limit of his ability to articulate such thoughts under pressure.

She nodded. And then she turned back to look out the window, thinking.

"I know he's a good man, a perfect husband-to-be. But still I keep baiting him, mistreating him, because it's _me_ , Clark. I'm the reason for all these men," she gestured throughout time, which was really towards the backseat, "And all this wreckage. I'm difficult, Clark, to say the least, and still these poor patient souls stand by me in everything, and I continuously sabotage these good relationships. Whether friend, lover, both, neither..."

She realized that is was obvious that she was only talking about Superman towards the end, someone with whom she had _not_ had a relationship. That was what was really bothering her.

Lois had steamrolled Clark with sudden bouts of hyper introspection so many times that neither of them ever bothered to be surprised.

"One assumes that for something to be wrong in a relationship that it must be a matter of _fault_ instead of a matter of _fate_ , not in a spiritual or divine way, but just in the way that life throws so many pitches at you..." A nod to their recent conversations, she rolled her eyes but smiled, "...that it is impossible to live and love, unaffected by it all. Circumstance, not self-destructive flaws, may have had a role in these failed, um, relationships. Something neither of you can blame yourself for," Clark was struggling with this suddenly, his voice had broken. Lois leaned away from him, afraid she was making him overly nervous, "The threads of our Fate are spun on high?" He gave her a goofy smile, shattering the intensity.

"Why must you make me think the word 'cornball' all the time? Do you know what a ridiculous word that is, to always have to think it when I look at you?" She swatted at him. He turned away with a smile and tried to get comfortable again. The conversation was over as quickly as it began.

She shot a quick, "Drunky!" at him before turning back to her recorder.

His point was simple, but true.

* * *

Minutes passed, time had no meaning. He really did feel insane with unnatural exhaustion, and it confused him.

Clark was staring up at the sky through the window, yearning to fly, to escape this cramped feeling, but so utterly contented by sharing this simple night with Lois that he was happy to stay. He had angled himself so that he could see Lois' reflection by the pale blue light of her satellite radio whenever he brought his focus back to the glass in front of his nose. Her eyes were open, but glazed and unseeing. She was lost in thought, and he alternated between watching her and looking up at the sky here and there as he waded through the mire of his tired brain. The baseball game, a sound born in his childhood, was the same as silence in the solitude of his mind.

He was drifting in and out of sensations and impressions rather than thoughts. It was a kaleidoscope of guilt, fear, joy, love, jealousy, and a lurking _confidence_ , of all things. From their conversation yesterday. A new feeling amidst the guilt, a hope for a future with his son... and Lois.

He was distracted by a change in Lois' breathing; it was now heavy and uneven. He turned his head a little and peeked at her; her face was away and towards the window, a lock of hair hiding her expression. He was worried that she was crying and had just opened his mouth to ask her what was wrong when she hiccupped into the quiet car.

'She's _laughing!_ '

Lois always, always hiccupped when she was trying not to laugh. Clark had witnessed it at funerals, weddings, after stories that were really not supposed to be funny, and at Perry's wife whenever she spoke more than two sentences. She usually turned red as well, and would just end up laughing and hiccupping at the same time despite efforts to stifle herself.

He did it in an instant, there was no conscious thought, it was no more than blinking an eye or swallowing: Clark expanded his hearing towards her and froze stiff in his seat as he heard his own voice laughing back at him.

_"But I can't, Lois!" his voice was full of mirth._

_"I bet you can! Keep trying!"_

_"No!" he laughed on every word,_ "This is humiliating!"

"No, it's not, you could use this one day, now _spin_."

Lois teaching him to spin.

'Lois teaching him to spin!'

Clark was floored. He looked down at her hand and saw her old recorder and realized that it wasn't the first time he had seen it with her before tonight; she had been listening to their tapes! This seemed so entirely surreal to him that it took a few moments for it to sink it, and by the time it did, a thousand questions popped up anew. How many of these tapes must she have? She wrote hundreds of articles on him, they had spent endless hours talking and reflecting together. Clark tried wildly to remember the ratio of times he saw her recorder to not, but he couldn't: it was as much part of the scenery as she was, familiar to him as Superman the hero and as Clark the reporter. He could not even imagine how many tapes there might be.

The voices were still in his mind, but the words slipped through the bottom of his faculties like water through an open drain. 'Why, Lois, why? Are you trying to find something? Are you listening to everything, are you listening for something in particular? An answer to a particular question, a flaw in my facade, a moment you want to hold me to?'

He watched her in the driver's side window, saw the lines of her face glowing softly in the orange lights above the deck, watched her shoulders shake with silent laughter. She hiccupped. He melted.

'What coincidence is this?' he wondered. The very moments he had meant to recall for Jason, right here, as well as the birth of his love for Lois. He could meet her for a second time, get back all the small moments he had forgotten, and just in time to give him the strength to want her again.

Clark turned slowly back to the window, now very conscious of his every move, trying to be causal when Lois had no reason to suspect him anyway. He assumed his comfortable posture and began to listen with his entire mind, letting the hissing tape fill his consciousness. He remembered the circumstance: They were on her old balcony, it was a summer night like this one, and she was in slippers. This was when Lois began to systematically expose his every capability and help him reach a level of control over them that now saved lives in split second situations.

_"Now hold still... alright, now can you float on a point of your body?"_

He had been hovering before her, balanced on the toe of his boot on the ledge of her balcony.

"Isn't that what I'm doing?"

"No, you're balancing on something, I'm saying can you... here, float up," she gestured. He did. "Now all of you is, floating, hovering, whatever?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, where does the weightlessness come from? Your muscles, your skin, just your feet?"

He had no idea. "I see... you're wondering if I can hold myself up in mid-air with just a finger?"

"Yes."

"I have no idea."

A long pause.

"I think it's mental, not physical," he said finally, only coming to that realization as he said it.

"Ahh. Well, can you _think_ yourself into holding yourself up with a finger?"

* * *

Minutes turned into potential hours. Clark had long ago lost the concept and Lois never set her radio clock ("YOU figure out how to do it, go ahead! Try!"). They sat in silence, perched in the open on the only tall structure for blocks, on a _stakeout_ of all things, but so wholly engrossed that neither of them would have noticed even the most obvious of crimes. Clark had x-rayed the building yesterday: it was empty.

His eyes were heavy, his brain felt fuzzy, there was an uncomfortable feeling in the back of his throat that he always associated with being tired. Yet he remained awestruck by this experience, sitting side-by-side with Lois, listening to their old conversations. He was happy as both Clark and Superman; that one man would be welcome to spend this kind of time with her again, and that another should be so clearly sought after.

He was overcome with nostalgia, and yet also cheered by this circumstance. He was also darkly amused at how close they always came, and how far the distance between The Truth and Lies of Omission. He thought it distinctly unfair that he should need to maintain fooling the most daring reporter he had ever met; it was quite difficult and yet surprisingly effective, considering who and what she was. Sometimes he was so close to telling her that he had to bite his tongue.

He set his mind back on the recorder, and was suddenly desperate to enjoy himself for once. This was, after all, quite amusing. He tried to access a distant feeling of affection, something lingering within the melancholy, a deep appreciation for these words spoken so long ago, a true happiness that he should know such a woman, a feeling of companionship across the center console.

_Now he was asking questions._

_"What do you hear right now?"_

_"I'm sorry?"_

"Ambiance, street noise, random sounds; what can you hear?"

"Well," she paused, "I hear cars on the street, um, a radio next door, us, a plane heading towards GTR International," she probably pointed to the sky, "Um, air conditioners."

"Can you hear voices on the street?"

"No..."

"Two planes, not one?"

"Nope." Beat.

"Can you hear your own heartbeat?" he said this wonderingly.

"Are you testing your hearing or mine?"

"I'm trying to determine what a human hears, their range of hearing, the radius of sound that surrounds them. I would like to be able to only hear that, to better understand interacting with them and the world from their-" he paused, "- _your_ perspective."

Clark couldn't believe he said this. He wondered at himself as he tried to remember asking that.

"Here, I've got an idea."

A waiting silence.

"Ah, now, can you hear the TV?"

"Yes."

Clark remembered her pointing a remote through the glass doors.

"I'll tell you when I _can't_ hear it..." a pause, "... right... now. That is the limit of my capability. Does that make a good start? Here. I'll go back..."

He remembered smiling as he remarked on her idea.

No wonder people thought Lois was too crude; she took the most obvious and straightforward route in a world that circled through niceties and around logic. She was brilliant in her simplicity. She cut to the solution seconds after hearing the problem because her logic was instinctual and her suspicions born of inherent understanding. Clark was smiling at himself in the reflection of the glass.

He tried to stop smiling as the voices went on.

"Maybe you can focus on a room, use the physical walls as real barriers of your abilities? And then envision smaller, mental _bubbles_ , things you can use as walls..."

Time wore on, Clark watched Lois in the window and eventually just closed his eyes, too tired to both see and listen. Lois' heartbeat, the sound of air in her lungs whispered behind his increased senses as he focused his hearing continuously in her direction in the semi-darkness.

Clark had taught himself everything she suggested, had tried all of her experiments, puzzled through himself as an extraordinary being, and had also puzzled through the contradiction that was _Lois Lane_. He had learned as much about her as she had about him, but only through observation, not with the empirical, scientific method that Lois employed. And the world never knew, never got to see her as a trainer of heroes, a force of reckoning for his abilities, an integral part of every great thing he had ever done in that persona.

Clark was awed by her, and wished he could properly convey it to the world.

He listened:

_"What was your reaction to that type of vigilante justice?"_

_"I wish I could say that it was a terrible misdeed and that citizens of a nation must trust in their legal system and not take justice into their own hands, but I also know the power of righteous anger and insane grief. For a father to kill in such madness may be a crime of law, but not always one of spirit. If we must incarcerate him, let us still not damn him, as well."_

The incorrect clock went from 7:46 to 8:25.

_"I love fireworks, it's crazy. Fireworks define my childhood; everything for me is fireworks... Even the fall of Communism was fireworks!" came Lois' enthusiastic voice from years past._

Lois of now whispered into the silent car, breaking the sacred stillness that had grown between their warm bodies in the night. Clark was jerked out of his hallucinations by the sound of her voice; she must have thought Clark was sleeping, or maybe she didn't realize she said it at all. She murmured the words as if she was inspired by them, as if realization came down upon her with the single phrase:

"Red Square!"

_"I haven't seen many, really," he responded thoughtfully, "At a few fairs," he added._

_There was some thoughtful silence._

_"What time is it?"_

A few seconds later Clark literally jumped in his seat when Lois clicked off her tape recorder. He gasped and groped for the door for support in his shock. He _really_ hated being startled. Today had been a _very_ long day.

"Careful there, twitchy."

Clark groaned as he moved around. He might be superhuman, but he did get sore if he sat in a car long enough.

"Hello, Lois," he looked around the horizon for the sun.

"It's time to be happy tomorrow is Saturday," she said, answering his spoken question from so long ago and the unspoken query on his face right now. She started the car without preamble and sat back to let it warm up, "Wakey wakey, seat belt, get that blood pumping." She was putting her recorder back, wrapping the ear bud wire.

Clark groaned again for good measure; his head hurt. He couldn't believe Lois' energy.

"Sleep in tomorrow, Clark. There's no six am harvest for you, let the chickens lie in." She was checking her cell phone and sighed, "Look at me, a terrible wife," she said this with dark humor, a self-chastisement that was still amusing to her. She threw the phone back in her purse with another sigh.

This statement made Clark's head spin with speculation. He put on his seat belt.

Lois shifted the car into reverse, catching his eye as she twisted her body in her seat to look behind the car. He was still quite overcome by the sudden shift from the twilight of memory and into the dawn of reality. He must have looked that way, too, since she paused.

"You all right, Clark? You look a little peachy," she asked softly. She always used words like that when she was actually concerned for him. He gave her his goofy smile, but by accident.

"Just a tired cornball."

She laughed outright at him, covering her mouth with the back of her hand and staring at him with surprised mirth in her eyes, which were just as puffy as his were and frazzled looking in the dim light. She was a mess, too.

"I'm great, Lois."

He gave a moment to pause, she somehow knew to wait.

"Thanks for asking."


	11. Worry and Wonder

Lois held a hand to her back and groaned as she stood up from kneeling on the kitchen floor, her hair falling out of her ponytail and sticking to her forehead. She was wearing dish gloves and cleaning the hard to reach spots under the cabinets in the noontime sun, wondering at a world before modern cleaning solution. Richard was vacuuming the living room while keeping an eye on Jason, who was currently working on a puzzle in front of the TV. The vacuum cleaner had created a level of white noise in the house for so long that the relative quiet that followed his turning it off startled her. Lois was still rattled from a long night, and was too tired to do this much longer. She peeled the gloves off her hands and made an announcement to the house.

"I am taking a shower."

Richard, who had clicked to the mid-morning Saturday news show upon walking over to sit with Jason, acknowledged her. They cleaned the house together every Saturday, sorted and dropped off the laundry at Wash n Fold down the street, attended to any outstanding bills or family issues, and then got take out. Sunday they woke up late, usually watched morning cartoons with Jason in bed when he sought them out at around 10 o'clock, and then Richard would attempt to cook breakfast. For the rest of the day Lois would hang around in her pajamas, either working on her latest article, making phonecalls, or very rarely reading. Jason went to art classes in the afternoon, and then they got take out. It had been the same, give or take the art classes, for two years. Lois couldn't stand it, but accepted it.

"I'm done too, I'm just going to listen to the news and then take mine after yours." He mussed up Jason's hair and smiled down at him, picking up a puzzle piece and peering down at Monet's _Water Lilies_ , Jason's favorite puzzle.

Lois watched and did not bother to sigh at Richard, reminded in these small moments that he was wholly unsuspecting that the boy next to him was not his son. It tore at her, and the nagging guilt that she had recently become accustomed to wrapped its away around her stomach and held tight. She turned towards the stairs, thinking longingly of the tub upstairs when a voice behind her made her tense.

"Superman announced today that he will be rejoining the NASA funded _Ulysses Project_ , an international space-walk collaboration founded with him in mind eight years ago by the United States and the other fourteen governments now involved in the International Space Station, or ISS..."

Lois looked around, interested. It somehow seemed important to her that he would listen to her advice so soon after hearing it.

"'... in which the range of tasks performed and the drastic decrease in risk for human lives promises to make massive bounds forward in humanity's understanding of the cosmos and our work in space,' said a NASA representative at a press conference late this morning..."

Lois remembered the joy this project had brought him when he first started working with NASA. 'He _is_ the truest astronomer of us all,' she smiled to herself.

"...the announcement came suddenly this afternoon, and NASA indicates that they had not been in communication with Superman about the project since his sudden reappearance on Earth three and a half months ago..."

"You look happy about it, Lois," observed Richard, who had turned around to see her reaction.

"It was a fantastic project, don't you remember it?"

"Yeah, but I didn't really follow it. You know what space does to me," he chuckled. Richard did, indeed, have a particularly hard time imagining the vast concepts needed to even begin to appreciate such an unknown. Lois also wondered if it was some secret fear; an inability to realize one's insignificance has lead many people down the dark alleys of ignorance, afraid to turn on the lights. It irritated her, and was actually one of the things she brought up whenever they had their 'how can you not _care_?' fight. But it was such a small irritation that it really did not matter.

She responded with a simple, "Mmmm," and turned back towards the stairs. She was three steps up when Jason's voice piped up.

"Does Superman go to space a lot?"

She answered automatically, as usual, still ascending, "Not too often, baby, and not for too long, or he'll suffocate." Lois had always planned to use age five as a milestone for when she would stop hiding the harsher realities of life from him. Simple facts, like that without air, people _die_. Fun stuff.

"So he doesn't live there?"

"Nope, but he was born on another planet, far away."

"How far?"

"So far that it takes _two and a half years_ to get there." Lois had paused on the stairs, looking back down at Jason who had turned himself around on the couch, leaning on the back cushions.

"Wow," he remarked sagely, wondering on the word as he dragged it out, "Does he miss home?"

"He doesn't really remember it. You once lived with me somewhere else, but you don't remember it, do you?"

"Nope."

"So you don't miss it." Logic. Good foundation for a personality.

Jason loved astronomy, what little he knew of it in his short life, and asked to go back to the planetarium more often than any other local child adventure.

Jason seemed satisfied, the news anchor was reviewing the project's prior accomplishments, including the first ever space walk that featured astronauts debating the feasibility of having Superman bring them pizza. Lois chuckled as she walked further up towards her promised shower, picturing him walking into a pizzeria and then pointing to the heavens. She just barely heard Jason asking Richard another question about Superman before closing the door behind her.

The reality of Jason's parentage was only just sinking in, despite her knowing about it for over three months. Up until the second Lois handed Superman his invitation it had seemed surreal, like a reality she would never really have to deal with. Now, all she could think about was when was Richard going to find out? How was it going to happen? When Jason broke his first piece of furniture, when he set something on fire by concentrating on it, when he jumped through the floor instead of just off the second-to-last step?

And how much of Superman's powers were in him? Would he exhibit all of them, but at half strength? Perhaps only some of his powers, like the vision and the flying without the hearing and the speed? Or perhaps they would never manifest themselves outside moments of extreme duress, as on the yacht?

Lois was dreading the day, either way, when she would either have to tell Richard or be found out. The decision now rested with her, whether to seize a time and get it over with or wait for it to explode around her. Obviously, the former was the better choice; Lois herself would much rather be told than have to find out such a monumental secret. Knowing this did not make it any easier, and she took a moment to look about her bathroom, the only part of the home she had made with Richard that she could currently see.

Despite all the internal compromising, all the regret at having to move in with a man, all the initial resentment she had felt towards the un-named and unborn lifeform inside her, Lois had grown accustomed to this life over the last four years. Only recently, and usually only at night and in the silence of inactivity, did the pulsing urge for freedom return to her blood. It was as if her entire outlook changed with the setting of the sun, with the memories that cool summer air and endless evenings brought her, and this had all been reinforced so strongly over the last two nights that it was now beyond ignoring. Now the Cleaning Saturdays and Lazy Sundays just irritated her to think about, the dish gloves laying discarded in the sink downstairs mocked her through the floorboards.

As she got undressed, pulling the dirty clothes she usually cleaned in off her warm body, she pondered the reality of her existence. Lois had always wanted excitement, always craved a less than ordinary life, and thought sadly that she had most certainly achieved this but not at all in the way she had planned. Underlying the peaceful domestic life happening all around her was the knowledge that she would have to tell her fiancé that his son was a half-alien bastard child of a _superhero_ that she regularly denied ever having slept with. Somewhere in the ether a spiritual manifestation of Lois was smiling, amused beyond words at this reality, casting the die again to see what would come up...

Warming the water and looking at herself naked in the mirror, she felt a moment of private, secret longing; a hope for a more peaceful life one day that wouldn't involve so many unknowns, so many chains around her; a peaceful life on _her terms_. The Lois of five years ago would have never dreamt of imagining such a thing, but motherhood had changed her, in so many small ways that she was sure only she could see. This train of thought led to another: a private shame at Jason's conception, a new agony along with the reality of his genetic roots, and her consciousness contracted again to that burning secret inside him.

'What have I done?' warm water soaked her hair, flowing down her back, 'How many lives have I ruined?' Lois turned around, closing her eyes under the deluge, 'What do I do?'

Thoughts of Superman came unbidden to her stream of consciousness. She saw their conversation about their son, heard his voice, saw him watch her shyly from under a single curl. For all her guilt, she could not deny herself the thrill of him in her life, the danger it was to speak to him in secret, to invite him into their home under all manner of deceptions...

Lois was careful in the way she spread the soap across her body as her movements strayed into fantasy, unable to deny herself these thoughts in the privacy of her mind, where they could harm no one but her. If she could not remember conceiving life, then at least she could imagine it.

* * *

Lois walked into the kitchen to Richard opening mail on the island and tossing opened envelopes into the recycling, "There's a letter from your alumni foundation, the cell phone bill, flyers, and Clark sent a note that he can't come to Jason's party."

Lois was pouring herself the leftovers of that morning's coffee, "He _mailed_ it? He works three feet from me, I put it on his desk _yesterday_ ," she shook her head as she put the mug in the microwave, " _Clark_."

"Quite the character, eh?" A casual way to bring up the very man puzzling him lately.

"He's not a character, he's just, _Clark_. You know, the way he walks, his geeky everything..." she trailed off as if the rest were self-explanatory, grinning at the microwave door.

"How long have you known him?" Richard knew perfectly well how long.

Lois answered anyway, "Eight years, since I was twenty-five and during my second year Upstairs."

'Upstairs' was the term used by the entire building for the 25th floor, where Perry kept his office and the most important members of the newspaper. The editor-in-chief had historically always kept his or her office there, (something about a superstitious founder and the original office being a space steeped in mojo) and it was the place where each editor in turn kept his or her best and brightest. Richard had learned this tradition of the floor in his first year there, mainly through word of mouth and inference. It seemed you needed to learn about it this way, no one ever told you.

In recent times - as printing technology got more advanced and compact - whole floors of the historic _Planet_ Building were leased out to other publishing firms, including a popular news magazine and a small non-fiction publisher. To his knowledge, the staffs of these other operations also referred to the floor as 'Upstairs,' despite many of them actually being _above_ the location in question. They were certainly all equally intimidated by his uncle.

"You know, I always wondered at his selection." Usually a collection of the greatest newspaper minds (he had deduced), Richard found his uncle's 'Upstairs' a band of dysfunctional misfits, all on different frequencies and rarely working with any measure of synchronicity.

"Mmm?" Lois took her coffee out of the machine and placed it on the counter.

"Doesn't it seem like a bit of a motley crew?" he went on, "Remember the eight months I actually spent _in_ International? Tyler down there is a newspaper genius, and while he does run the department he doesn't have a desk Upstairs..."

"… _And_ it's a bit odd to include people like Clark and Jimmy and that crazy guy over by Marissa, right?" It seemed that she had heard this query before. She smiled as she opened the refrigerator and got out her non-dairy creamer, " _Perry_ is a newspaper genius, and while Don Tyler is a journalist among men, he's not enough of a risk for him," she was stirring in sugar, "We're the freaks, the crazies that no one knows how to react to, what to do with, whether we'll excel or fail; Perry is as much a ring master as an editor."

"You don't belong there." He was trying to convey what a good reporter he truly knew she was. Her name would be remembered in the annals of history when thousands of people died nameless every day...

"Don't I? Richard, I made it to the 25th floor at twenty-three, I had just finished college and took a year off to live in poverty as an intern in the basement. Wouldn't it take someone a little crazy to make enough of an impression to end up making front page headlines one year later?" She harkened back to her wild days with her soon-to-be five year old in the other room and her hair in a towel, the picture of domesticity.

"What did you do, then?" He had always just assumed she'd been there forever, she was _Lois Lane_ , she didn't have humble beginnings...

She laughed, "I got an interview with the Pope."

Richard didn't believe her. His response was instant.

"What?" he asked flatly.

"On his last tour of America," she said it matter-of-factly and without a hint of humor. She smiled at his look.

"And _how_ did you do that?" _The Pope_? Lois had spoken to the Pope? How did he not know that?

"That's a secret," she sipped her coffee and glanced around to check on Jason and his puzzle. He had a very long attention span.

There was a thoughtful silence, but for two very different reasons.

"What did Clark do?" Mousey, goofy, clumsy, love-struck Clark...

"Hmmm? Oh, Perry hired him onto the 25th the day he met him," she took another sip and leaned against the island, looking down at Richard who was still sitting with the letter opener in his hand. She didn't seem impressed, didn't remark on how odd it must have been, at the difference between her experience and his.

"So, all he needed was the interview?" That doesn't seem very likely, but then again, his uncle had instinct and Richard _had_ read as many of Clark's articles as he could find, and heard all the stories, and saw all the awards...

"I guess so. Or maybe there was something nutty on his resume, like a PhD in Journalism and ten years experience in the field at twenty-six..."

"Really?" asked Richard, impressed.

Lois laughed at him, "I have no idea Richard, it's more likely he listed the types of tractors he's qualified to operate."

So Lois didn't know either. Well, she probably didn't care, he was afterall, _just Clark_.

"You think he's quite the oddity." He wanted to ease into the way she treated him, at once like no one else and yet crueler than usual, despite the way Clark obviously felt about her.

"He's just Clark." There it was again, the self-defining definition that annoyed him so much lately. She did not respond to what he assumed was an expression of expectation, inviting her to please elaborate. He mentally sighed and decided to move on; keeping Lois moving was the best way to explore her, or else she'd pick up on the pattern and slam shut like a blast door.

"I don't picture you belonging there, anyway. You should be the editor of Metro or-"

"I run Metro and everyone knows it."

"But I mean officially, and downstairs, with your own office."

He went too far... Lois was glaring at him, throwing daggers with her eyes and looking ready to argue.

"Despite its recent reputation being Upstairs is still as much of an honor as it ever was. And if _I_ were to suggest one of us doesn't belong there, I might be advising _you_ on where _you_ are better off. That's _my_ floor; me, Perry, Jimmy and the rest of the crazies. You'll notice that the stories spread across the globe on the AP line are _ours_ , that we've managed to report more history than the entire _building_? We had some of the only non-state sanctioned photographs from Soviet Russia, the only interviews with the Capricorn before he blew up the British Embassy, we've gotten the first presidential interviews with every administration since _Teddy Roosevelt_ -"

"And you have Superman."

" _Yes_ , and _Superman,_ who doesn't use any other media firm as his personal outlet. And there's no need to look into that, _Richard_ , as if I'm insisting on my place just because I keep rights to his exclusives. He _is_ my story, he got me my Pulitzer and don't think I'm not still proud of it even if I refused to accept it in public."

They weren't fighting, but Lois was riding high on righteous indignation. All the aprons, dollies, and fruit baskets in the world wouldn't make her look domestic now. In fact, Richard entertained a mental image of Lois pounding the streets of injustice, hair in a towel and holding Jason's hand.

He didn't say anything for awhile while she drank her coffee.

"Why did my uncle hire Clark?"

"Why aren't you curious about Jimmy, what is this sudden fascination with _Clark_?" Lois was squinting at him, tearing the innocence from his bones.

Damn.

"It's probably because I've really only just met him. He appeared out of nowhere, latched onto you, was crowned the belle of the ball around the Bullpen out of the blue, he got a desk in the middle of the floor..."

Lois laughed at him, not taking a word of it seriously.

"...you let him be your partner-"

Lois interrupted him, " _Let_ him? Clark _is_ my partner, he just went on a really long vacation," she said this like it was the plainest fact on the table, as if pointing out a tidbit in one of the flyers on the counter, there for all to see. Richard actually looked down at the counter, expecting to see her words written there like a script.

A cog clicked into place somewhere in Richard's mind, turning a gear in a ponderous machine that was as of yet without a definable purpose. Lois had been _waiting_ for Clark; it changed everything, every notion that he had ever had about Lois and her working method. He had thought up until this instant that Lois truly wanted to work alone at all times and had just _let_ Clark be her partner, subsequently kicking him around like a second-class citizen in order to work out her impatience and frustration with the situation.

_In fact_ , it was utterly different, skewed in the eye of his mind, that Lois was instead acknowledging that the space has been _reserved_ , that she considered him a companion already, incomplete in her work without him rather than resplendent in her natural solitude. The distinction was everything. He was overwhelmed by it.

Overwhelmed.

"But he had left the _Planet_ , how could you know he'd come back, and that Uncle Perry would just put him right back in the Bullpen?" His voice sounded full of disbelief to his own ears.

This question didn't really register with Lois. She stared at him, "Where else would he go?"

He still couldn't place the man that was Clark with the conceptualization of him that was the focus of this conversation. Richard tried another route.

"Did you miss him?" Richard knew he was accessing a very private part of her, told himself to remember that for all her distance, Lois _did_ show him things about herself. He was frankly beyond curious now, all other thoughts of Clark mere drops compared to this flood.

"He's my best friend," she said with a tone that once again implied that this was the entire answer in and of itself and that there was no need to elaborate; as if never mentioning her best friend for the last _five years_ was tantamount to erecting a shrine of memories next to her monitor. She confused the hell out of him.

"Clark _Kent_?" How could she say that with the way she treated him? He was still trying to lead back to that, but was getting sidetracked and more incredulous every second.

"What, is he too lowly for me to be friends with? Is that what you're really skirting around, the fact that you can't believe who I associate with when I would have the choice of any of the great staffs in the paper? That I should spend my lunch hours with the goofiest man at the planet and his small fry side-kick instead of heads of departments and other headline writers?" she guffawed, "Look around the Bullpen, Richard, they're the realest people there, the greatest human beings I know, and while I may be at the top of every food chain in that building, they are still the people who know me best. I'm just as _messed up_ ," Jason was in the other room, "as they are, and they're the only ones who don't notice."

She said this passionately and without anger; she was only trying to relay the importance of this to him. He remained silent, always using a lack of reaction to let her know she was making good points, and that he had no counterargument. He had actually been referring to her attitude towards him, not her selection of friends. She had made a different point and he sat in contemplation of it before she went on.

"Did you have friends as a child?"

Richard looked up at her, her eyes and skin bright in the afternoon light streaming through the skylights above them. He knew she had a very big issue with childhood friends, but not because she had ever said anything. Instead, Richard had gotten an idea of it by overhearing a conversation between Lois and his uncle a number of years ago.

"Yes, I did. And you know Jake obviously, we've known each other twenty-six years..." he gestured towards the other room, as if Jake were there and not currently white-water rafting in Colorado.

"I had no one. _No one._ We moved every eight months, usually only staying long enough for me to trade phone numbers with a new friend here and there. Sometimes I would be able to call them for a few months after we moved again, but that was it. Look at Clark and Jimmy, Richard, and even Kyle and Guy and Marissa... if you can't recognize it like I can, if you can't see the same loneliness in their eyes, then you should know that we are what it looks like to grow into adults without ever having had a true friend, to always wonder who really liked you and who didn't. For me, it was born of my circumstances, so despite being quite a 'popular' personality, I am still a loner born and bred. Clark is a bumbling farm boy in the big city, Jimmy is a mama's boy trying to be a man in his own shoes. We're a collective of outsiders, half-brilliant and half-crazed, and working against deadlines in a powerhouse of a prestigious paper. But we have literally saved each other's lives, tackled one another for flying bullets, held each other as we watched other people die, and would do anything for each other."

She gave a moment for these words to sink in. Richard's face was blank as he waited.

"We keep each other's backs, and that's why Perry put us all together. He's a genius because he realizes that the heart of a newspaper, just like that of any other major think-tank, should be made up of the most desperate and dysfunctional people he could find. He made us wrap our personalities around each other like a collective and we collaborate with a loyalty that keeps us at our jobs. It's practical, too: not only does he have one of the best floors in the world, but he knows none of us would leave such a sense of belonging that we never had before.

"If you're confused by Clark's popularity in the Bullpen, it's just because of who he has to deal with, the very celebrity other people feel should grant me the right to hand-pick my own staff," she rolled her eyes at herself, Richard watched her silently.

He must have looked very confused. She had thought her last point made it clear, thinking Clark's popularity must be the source of his confoundment rather than, well, _the last five, silent years._

"Then again it might be his ravishing good looks and homeboy charm..." she laughed and turned away, shaking her head in that familiar way and heading over to Jason, finished with answering questions for the day.

"Oh, yeah, right..." he trailed off, distracted.

If she had meant to explain herself to him, Richard could not help but think she had done a better job of explaining _Clark,_ for his devotion to her was born of being in the shadow of a great and beautiful woman, someone he would have never expected to give him the time of day. The lost-puppy look filtered through his mind, dancing around images of intense passion he had caught here and there from inside his office. Knowing all this, Richard couldn't find it in himself to be angry at the way Clark sometimes looked at his fiancée; in fact, he found it very sad considering the utter disregard she had for him, despite proclaiming him her best friend. He thought it too pathetic to deny the poor man the few moments he allowed himself when he thought no one was looking.

Richard felt a rare surge of loneliness, thinking about the way the Bullpen had never accepted him despite his being at the _Planet_ for almost six years, and watched Lois as she spoke to Jason, thinking that she truly was a good person, through and through, even with the way she treated her comrades sometimes.

He was sure he had heard what she hadn't said: Lois was such a good friend to Clark and Jimmy exactly because they would never have thought she would be. Whether they knew this or not, Richard could not tell, but from knowing Lois he thought he must be right about her side of it, at least.

As his gaze went back down to the mail, unseeing, he couldn't help but continue to wonder at what it was that got Clark on the 25th floor from day one, what it was that made him the natural exception to every unspoken rule in the minds of his colleagues.

Maybe it was the accent.

* * *

Later that night, Lois finally had some time for listening. She clicked on the machine.

_"There, it just happened again, what did you do?"_

_"Nothing, I only turned my head."_

"Do it again..." Lois moved closer to him, looking directly up into his eyes with frank wonder.

Superman's eyes glinted in the moonlight, not like a cat's, but unlike anything she had ever seen. It was as if there were little flecks of metal in his irises, small bits that caught the light while the rest of the tissue did not. Their faces were very close; a blush had started to rise across his naked cheeks, his expression filling with wonder at _her_ and her proximity. He waited until she was very close and turned his head.

"No, you keep looking at me, move your eyes."

And with obvious reluctance, Superman moved his eyes away from her, and towards the moon shining bright between two buildings and onto her balcony.

"How often does it do that?"

A question directed towards the glowing orb, full in the summer's air, making the two buildings it shone between reminiscent of great monoliths at ancient altars across the world.

"I don't really notice..." Lois was moving her face around his, trying to see his eyes from all different angles, using her usual curious approach to understanding the phenomenon present there, "It's beautiful..."

"Yes..." he was talking about the moon, she was talking about his eyes, he turned back to her, now inches from his face and on her tiptoes, "...it is."

Lois remembered this moment, and the tension between them, the small flame that would end up burning them alive, how the blush on his face used to turn her on more than the most skilled sexual advances-

The balcony door slammed open, Lois jumped in her lounge chair.

"Oh! I'm sorry!" Richard emerged, carrying a sleeping Jason in his arms and obviously encumbered. Lois clicked off her recorder.

"What are you listening to?"

"Notes on the Henderson story from two years ago."

"Ah, listen, I'm putting him to bed, would you like anything from downstairs?"

"Some wine?"

"Good idea." Richard moved back into the house, closing the door behind him. Lois looked out across the bay, lit less by the moon and more by the not-so-distant skyline, and wished she could see her old apartment. She clicked on the recorder to hear the rest of the conversation before Richard returned.

_"You've never noticed it...?"_

"I guess I've never looked into my own eyes by moonlight..." his voice was rough instead of humorous, as she assumed he had intended it to be; he was very obviously overcome by her. Her feet were sore from having to stand so far up on her toes, and she suddenly went back down on her heels, breaking the spell...

"I should go..." there was regret in both of them, nothing like the burning hatred for the distance they needed to maintain that would develop later in their friendship. Lois clicked off the recorder.

She looked out across the bay, waiting for Richard sans headphones, wondering what had stopped them that night and so many others, what kept their lips apart, their desires unfulfilled...

The door opened, "I figured red."

Lois reached out a hand for her glass and took a sip. Richard, rather than joining her in the other chair as she had guessed he would, stayed back and behind her, reaching down to rub her shoulders after putting down his glass.

"This was a rough week."

"Yes, it was..." He had no idea. They looked out across the bay in mutual silence, both thinking about the same man and doomed to not realize it. Lois turned her head into Richard's hands, inviting him to continue.

Superman's voice lingered along the burned edges of her synapses; his eyes came to the front of her inner eye. Richard's attention to the back of her neck was tracing lines down her body, warming her to the touch of a man in the present, and as Lois finished the rest of her wine and stood up she made a decision to take Richard to bed, right then.

Dragging him along by the bottom of his shirt, trying to ignore the pleasantly surprised look on his face, Lois outright used Richard against their three hundred thread-count sheets for neither the first nor the last time, but was sure to shut the blinds against the moon as she did so. It was anger, a lack of fulfillment, a desire to have some control over something in her life in that instant. She truly cared for Richard, she did, but was too lost in his physical dimensions to distinguish his lines from another's in the muted darkness. All she had now was her imagination in the mess of secrets, lies, and forgotten moments that her life had become...

_"It's like... looking into a blue diamond..."_

_Superman smirked down at her one last time that night, amused by her trite statement, as Richard moaned quietly against her cheek._

_"May I quote you on that, Ms. Lane?"_


	12. Monday

"What difference does it make?"

Lois' leg was holding open the door as she blew smoke out towards the rain.

"She's my mother, she would prefer it if I asked her first."

Jimmy looked at Lois, her back against the wall of the small steel enclosure that shielded the elevator shaft from the elements. He bowed his head.

"Jimmy..."

"I know." He hung his head still, blushing like a little boy caught doing something wrong for the hundredth time.

"How about you start with talking to her first, _then_ tell your mother."

They sat by the muted light of the morning sky, Jimmy on the topmost step of the staircase and Lois half on the floor and half on the roof. A summer thunderstorm was raging outside making it impossible for Lois to smoke without getting drenched, so they were commiserating by the roof door instead. Lois' bare leg was exposed, reaching out to hold the spring-loaded hatch at bay. She was smoking as if offering incense to some unseen deity.

"Okay."

"Which one is she?"

"Lily," this did not answer her question, based on Lois' expression, "Intern Number Five."

"Oh! Black hair, green eyes?"

"Yeah."

"Number Five, mmm," she took a puff, Jimmy looked down shyly.

He waited a few minutes until the moment passed. He knew Lois didn't care but he had a lot of trouble talking about girls... women. He looked back up at her, the picture of brilliance wrapped in casual disregard. Lois was like the really cool older sister he never had. Or like that hipster senior girl who takes care of a lonely, awkward freshman that doesn't know a thing about life.

Lois had played a similar role in his life, taking him under her wing his first day Upstairs, fresh from the suburbs, and protecting him from the lions in the Bullpen. She gave him advice, spoke for him when he could not, and on, occasion lent him her particularly acidic wit.

Despite her guiding him all this time, Jimmy's view of Lois had shifted over the last few years. As he grew older he began to spot and understand flaws in her, her weaknesses, or the things she did that Jimmy finally started to disagree with. She had indeed helped him come into himself, form and hold his own opinions, and he had the courage to mentally question many of her actions as the haze of hero worship passed. Thoughts like this occurred to him from time to time as he watched her in conversations like these.

While he would never have the courage to question her morals and lifestyle directly, he _did_ now have the courage to voice things unexpectedly:

"Lois?"

"Mmm?"

"When was the last time you saw him?"

She looked in from the rain and directly at him.

"What do you mean?"

Lois looked surprised by his direct question; even he was surprised at himself for asking it. Jimmy looked at her, thought she looked older than he had ever seen her; it was odd, and he was distracted by it.

"Just the other night." Her voice was hesitant.

James Olsen thought he might have the singular pleasure of being able to ask Lois Lane almost any question and get a complete answer. She did not _tell_ him her secrets, did not offer them like she sometimes did to Clark, but answered with secrets whenever his questions came her way. It made him feel special; he was proud to be in her confidence.

"In all this time?"

"One or two other times. We didn't have much to talk about."

He noticed the past tense of this statement, but didn't push her.

"You're depressed."

"It's the weather."

"Um, it's more than the weather."

Lois looked in at him from the rain again, exhaling into the stairwell.

"You wouldn't have asked for these, Lois..." Jimmy reached down and picked up the manila envelope he had taken from the supply room last Wednesday. This was a photo-mailer, reinforced with two pieces of archival board, which now contained a selection of photographs from a larger pool waiting at home on his kitchen table.

She held out her hand for the envelope, and Jimmy pulled it back towards his body.

They stared at each other. The stairwell felt cool and humid from the storm.

"Nothing in there is going to make it worse, Jimmy."

"That's not necessarily true, you've never seen these before."

That got her full attention; she sat up and away from the wall, the cigarette now almost gone. She took a nervous drag.

"Well?"

"Well," Jimmy looked down again, "You know how we both knew _those_ pictures could never be printed?"

She nodded.

" _These_ pictures could never _exist_ , never mind be published."

As he had sat leafing through his Paige boxes in his apartment, Jimmy debated the very point that was swirling through his mind in this instant: would it harm or help Lois to see these shots? Taken at two different places on two different days, these pictures were Jimmy's best-kept secret. Seeing Lois glance furtively at the news monitors whenever Superman saved a South Asian villager or a mid-western housewife, Jimmy couldn't help the nagging guilt he felt for never having shown her these. Now, though, with Richard thirty feet away, Jimmy's casual words to Clark when he returned to the Bullpen came back to him ("If you ask me, 'cause she'd never admit this, but if you ask me? She's still in love with _you-know-who")_. He had stared at his bedroom wall for an hour, in the midst of an ethical debate over the heart of one of his best friends, thinking of the way Lois looked at Superman and the promise she had made to Richard.

"Lois, do you remember waking up in the hospital after the building collapse on 3rd and Guilden?"

"Yeah, you and Clark were there, I couldn't remember a thing..."

Jimmy flipped open the envelope and slipped his fingers between the boards. His temporary courage was fast fading.

"This is, uh, what you missed..." he pressed his fingers to the back of the print and used the friction to pull the first photo from the collective out into the hard, fluorescent light of the stairwell. Lois was rubbing her cigarette out on the door, leaving her leg to get wet in the splish-splash of rain. He pulled the photograph out and sighed.

"I filed it under 'Agony,'" he held out the glossy paper between them, offering his work to her as a testament to a moment she never knew in consciousness.

The roof door slammed shut as Lois sat forward, aghast.

"Oh my god."

Lois held her hands out like a monk taking an offering of food rather than pinching the photograph in her fingers. Jimmy slid the paper into her grasp, watching the emotions wash across her face. There, between them, lay Lois Lane, covered in blood from a very grievous head wound and spread across the lap of a tortured man, like the dead Christ across his mother's lap in the _Pietà._ Superman looked down at Lois with an expression of raw human pain; a hand in her hair, cradling her head, and probably searching for a heartbeat in his mind. EMT workers were approaching from the other direction with an unusual amount of emotion on their faces at the scene they were witnessing, firefighters aiming jets of water in the background.

Lois let out a long breath, her eyes raking over the picture.

"He thought you were dead."

"I thought I was far enough away, Clark said the concrete that hit me seemed to aim straight at me, it was a freak incident."

"It was. I fainted."

Lois looked up and into him.

"I thought you were dead, too. He... he..." he gestured down at the picture, "He froze. He didn't move. He just fell to his knees and held you like that, I took the picture out of pure instinct, and then I fainted." He gave a small chuckle, trying to lighten the mood, the terror years behind them, the scar a small mark under her hair.

She didn't laugh. She looked back down.

"Jimmy, this is incredible. It's unreal, I can't really see that as _me_."

Arms at her sides, the blood literally pooled around her, dripping off his fingers and down his wrist. He looked so terrified, it hurt her to look at.

"Didn't you ask him what happened?"

"He didn't say a _word_ ," she sounded ponderous, "I mean I can see why he wouldn't..."

She looked at the picture. Jimmy looked at her.

"I was so afraid, Lois. Clark too, he was shaken up for hours. We waited for you to wake up in the hospital," his words were echoing weirdly in the hollow stairwell, off steel and cinder blocks. He sounded scared.

"I know," she looked up and smiling at him, the surprise there replaced by affection, "I waited by your bedside a few times." She laughed, "We do a good job of staying out of trouble," she added with a dark humor.

They sat for a few moments before Lois took a deep breath and looked up and out of thought.

"What else?"

Jimmy picked up the envelope and pinched the side of another photo, pulling it loose of its comrades.

"This may seem a little repetitive, but it's the first thing I saw when I came to."

Lois took the picture, touching only the sides of the paper. Jimmy liked that she appreciated a photographer's aversion to fingerprints.

"...I figure it was about five minutes later."

Superman stood powerless as the emergency workers attended to the grotesquely beautiful body between them; Lois was astounded to think she liked the way she looked in the shot. Her face was peaceful in near-death, the pose a testament to the rare beauty of the macabre. It spoke of some grander idea inside her, that if she was going to live a tabloid life she might as well have appropriate illustrations. She really admired Jimmy's instinct.

She found it difficult to look at the emotion on Superman's face and averted her eyes. Maybe another time.

She picked up the first picture and held it up to him, saying very seriously:

"This should have been nominated for a Pulitzer."

"No, it shouldn't have."

"Why not?"

"I've never seen a man so helpless, Lois! I could never show this to the world, he's my friend. And a part of me believes the press owes the good-doers of the world a favor, I figure we should protect them when we can, help them rather than expose their every fault for personal gain."

Lois looked up and into his eyes, truly interested.

"Like FDR," she said with a smile in her voice.

He laughed, "Yes, Lois, like FDR," he smirked and gestured down at Superman, the juxtaposition really quite funny.

"Did you take Journalism?"

"No."

"Right, I didn't think so..." and she looked down at the photo.

"The next two are, uh, a bit different."

Lois handed over the photos and Jimmy switched them with another pair.

"This was about five years ago, right before he left. I came to your apartment to drop off photos you had wanted and I found the door open and you know I always just come in because you forbade me to ring your bell ever again after the time I..." he was rambling.

She nodded.

"...so I took these uh, by accident?"

The photo snapped in that way photo paper does when it's flicked in a hand. Jimmy looked away, blushing like a boy.

There were plenty of photographs in Jimmy's portfolio that featured Lois being carried away from disaster in Superman's arms, but none of her resplendent in his charm, staring into his face and bright-eyed. Here they were on her balcony, just back from flying, her hair mussed from the wind, a slight burn on her cheeks, rosy and white. He looked intense in that way that he did whenever they flew; she loved that look. He loved to fly.

Anyone would.

Pressed against each other, her arms around his neck and his hands resting on her waist, Lois saw for the first time what she looked like in Superman's arms. Certainly she had glanced their reflection in the mirrored wonder of Metropolis' modern skyscrapers, but this was a moment clear and still, an image she could truly focus on. Lois looked down their bodies and came to stare at her feet, resting on his boots and seeming so delicate compared to his larger, powerful stature. She had never seen herself look so small as she did wrapped in his arms; it sent unfamiliar desire though every synapse and blood vessel.

Lois stopped breathing as these thoughts swirled, as she thought about him this way for the first time in so long. How could she say no? If it came her way, the chance, would she say no?

"And this is about five seconds later, before I ran away," and he held out another stolen moment.

Now his eyes were heavy, their faces close. Lois' head was tilted up and towards him, she looked hesitant and open. As Lois gazed at the photograph she remembered this moment: in a few seconds from then his lips had almost touched hers, but his expression crumbled, and he buried his face in her neck to feverishly kiss the skin there instead. It was the closest he had ever come to _actually_ kissing her. So many times they had come that close, but she knew from day one that he just would not touch her. Not really. He would hold her and look at her but never really _touch_ her.

A longing more powerful than before rose in her; she cursed herself, cursed her actions and not being able to at _least_ remember getting what she wanted in exchange for five years of grief.

She wanted him. Shit.

"So close, Jimmy. I was always so close," she said, full of regret, sounding miserable.

Jimmy was still looking at the concrete wall beside him, having averted his eyes in embarrassment.

"You mean he didn't kiss you?" He couldn't help it, that was surprising. He felt like a teenager with his big sister again.

He had only that time: the salty, sensitive skin below her jaw, "Never."

"No way."

She raised an eyebrow at him, "Yes way? _What_ , Jimmy?"

He must have a weird expression on his face, "That just doesn't seem likely."

"I almost think you're making fun of me."

"I'm not."

"You are. You think I'm a whore."

" _What?_ " She had to be joking!

She laughed at him, and he glared at her for fooling him again.

"As unlikely as it seems - and I know what you mean Jimmy, don't worry - it's _true_. Up until whatever turn of events led to..." she trailed off and looked across at him.

"Jimmy." Her voice was suddenly serious; she seemed to come to a decision in that moment. He grew concerned in a heartbeat, instinctively aware that this was important, "There's something I want to tell you, and something I need your help with."

"Ummmm..." A familiar hapless expression crossed his face.

"Jason isn't Richard's."

Jimmy blinked at her.

'Well, that doesn't make any sense.'

He continued to stare at her, and then that thought was followed by this one:

'I wonder who it could- AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!'

"Oh no. Oh no. Oh no, Lois! Butyoujustsaid.. I mean... Ah!'"

_'Ahhhh!'_

He wildly hoped his mother would never find out about this. She already didn't like Lois and didn't think such an important deception would help her image. Oh man!

"I know what I said. I didn't think anything had ever happened, but it doesn't change the fact that Jason is," she rolled her eyes, "Superman's."

Jimmy just stared at her, open-mouthed in shock.

"I've only known for three months."

"That doesn't make any sense! How could you not _know_?" Jimmy took a breath after he said this, shocked that it came out. 'That was personal. Oh wow that was too personal, but... but!'

Lois turned away at the question. She swallowed.

"There was a weekend. Five years ago. Remember?"

And suddenly, Jimmy did. The memory opened like a box right in front of him, the weekend that Lois insisted she didn't remember when she wandered in one morning in the middle of the week.

He nodded, realizing she was waiting.

"So it must have been then. And as for what happened, well, I already know I'm a pretty fucked up person sometimes. There are a lot of nights I don't remember and I'm guessing those days were just like my others. He must have wound up in my sights."

"Wow."

"Yes. And no I haven't asked him what happened. I'm not sure I want to know."

"Wow."

Beat.

"What do you need my help with?" This question was one he did not want answered.

"I need you to know so you can watch Jason in the Bullpen when he comes in. I can't be there every second, and I need someone to bounce off of should he _set something on fire._ "

Jimmy squeaked.

"He has super powers?" It sounded like such a ridiculous question.

"We don't know. I mean, we do, but not really," she flapped her hand hopelessly and reached for another cigarette. Jimmy couldn't blame her.

"We can call him Superboy!"

He was expecting her to laugh, and instead got a cold look and a raised eyebrow; she flicked off her lighter and the warmth of her stare disappeared with the flame. The smile faded from his face as his attempt to lighten the mood hit way off target.

"Sorry."

"Humph."

Jimmy was abashed and looked away, sighing into the stairwell.

"You have a crazy life." He said it like a child wondering at a new thing. Regret filled his voice as he thought what a dork he was in front of her, with problems like asking his mom for permission to talk to a girl.

"Oh I know, Jimmy," she reached for the card slider and kicked open the door with a stiletto heel, a frank manner of mind _and_ body. "It's like a sci-fi soap opera," she took a puff, "It's fucked up." Lois snapped back into 'cool big sister' mode and away from guilty secrets of forgotten affairs and heartbroken fathers. She leaned back against the door frame and assumed her original posture, exhaling out into the rain, a white puff against a gray sky. According to the news, Superman was dealing with a flooded river upstate. Summer storms.

"But I'm used to it. It's funny, these last five years seem so unreal now; it was silly to think I could live that way..."

Jimmy had also sensed this feeling recently, but nothing on the scale of Lois' experience. He thought suddenly of her love affair with Superman, of the fact that they had a son together. It changed _everything_ , all his ideas about Lois' recent thoughts and actions, the fact that everything was whispering of a renaissance of their tryst. It changed everything.

"Wow. No wonder you're depressed." He folded his hands and looked down, unable to look at her while he brought this up.

"I'm not depressed. Why should I be?"

"Well, um, no reason. Unless um, feeling torn between the two men that love you? Could be a reason..."

" _Love_ me?" She looked cold again, like the woman on the other side of an internationally renown keyboard.

"Come on, Lois. You can't possibly doubt that. He loves you. It's the instinct," he waved his finger around his head, as if indicating some genius he could access because he was a good photographer. He was really just trying to play it off and feeling bashful because of what he wanted to say next:

"It's probably why he never kissed you, well _before_ the, I mean I assume, you know, the, um. Oh boy."

He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them and tried again. This time he pointed to the picture of the near-kiss, illustrating his point.

"He was too shy."

" _Too shy?_ For just a kiss?" her skepticism echoed around them.

"Yeah. I understand it. He just _can't_ kiss you..." his voiced trailed off, suddenly wishing he were invisible. They both looked down at the picture still resting on Lois' knee, as if Superman's face could speak of his hesitant nature in that instant. He was looking at Lois like she was the only thing he had ever seen. Jimmy suddenly wondered why he _really_ left five years ago.

But he didn't wonder very long. A thought came to him, a cold and terrible thought, settling into his brain. He looked at her. Jimmy had just realized that Superman had left because of Lois, because of whatever she couldn't remember.

There were times when Lois didn't remember. It brought back very uncomfortable memories of the times that Jimmy had seen her be really self-destructive, and while he knew that was a long time ago and things had changed... he wondered. And now he could feel worry settling into his mind.

A gust of cool wind blew in off the roof. Storms were influenced by the drafts in the warm city air and would often shift unexpectedly in the updrafts around the _Planet_ building. A cool mist blew against their faces and Lois turned her head to look outside, startled but hopeful looking.

Pity surged through him; he was aghast at the fact that Lois had looked expectantly towards a breeze thinking Superman was there, beyond the shelter.

Lois looked dazed, "Christ, never mind, I'm delusional, look at me! I'm a wreck!" She went from calm denial into temporary hysteria in the space of these words, Jimmy could recognize it now. She didn't really do anything about it, just sat there panicked but silent next to the door. He could see the strain behind her eyes, worse after this weekend. Something must have happened to push her.

They paused.

"This is serious, isn't it?"

"Yup!" she answered quickly, taking a long drag, trying to calm down.

Jimmy felt suddenly awkward, like he was uncomfortable in his body, aware of the weight of this secret and the fact that she confided it in him.

"Who else knows?"

"Only him." Him with a capital 'H.'

He sat fiddling with the hard corner of the photo-mailer.

"And Lex Luthor."

" _What?_ Ohmygod, Lois, _what?_!" Jimmy looked around quickly, as if Luthor was sneaking up the stairs behind him.

"Like I said, you get used to a certain level of-"

"Never mind!" Jimmy panicked, trying to stop more insanity from leaving her mouth, "Does He know that?" his voice shook.

"Yes," she sighed and looked out at the roof, "He does."

He was trying to think of something to think about while his mind processed the implications of a five year old being the most tempting hostage on Earth for the use of infinite evil.

"Jason's half-alien!"

Obviously.

It was NUTS!

Lois raised the last bit of her cigarette at him like she was toasting a champagne glass, took a sip of smoke and threw the butt on the roof where it shattered into sparks against the wet stone.

Jimmy closed his eyes and pinched his nose. There was some important basic genetics in here somewhere.

"I hate Mondays."

She let out a sharp, singular, "Ha!" at him.

"And here I thought there was nothing more shocking in the world than you becoming a mother..." Jimmy had always wanted to tell her this. He was just feeling crazy enough to finally do it.

"Not even me getting engaged?"

"Good point. That too." Jimmy nodded at the floor, still pinching the space between his eyes.

"Does this seem relatively less shocking, that I should bear the most significant child on earth?"

"In the universe," he corrected miserably.

"In the universe? Ha!" Lois suddenly held up her middle finger to the world outside, giving reality The Finger and blowing smoke into the atmosphere, "Fuck the universe. I've had enough." Lois pulled her foot in quickly as she stood in a swift motion, the door slamming shut just as she reached her full height. She stretched her lithe body without modesty and turned towards the elevator with her purse slung over her shoulder.

The shift was so unexpected and the slam of the door so loud that Jimmy was rendered deaf for a few seconds, in shock and still on the floor. It was so like her just like to turn off in a millisecond, to never notice the other person in her conversations.

He tried to snap out of it and moved quickly to join her by the elevator, his breath loud in the quiet left by the rain. When Lois made up her mind, she was devoted mind and soul, even if it was just to wait for the elevator. She stared at the hard steel doors, different than the antiqued brass ones on every other floor, and threatened to melt them straight through. Jimmy knew she wasn't angry with him; she was just riled about everything else. And depressed.

* * *

Clark looked up into brown eyes and smiled at Lois when she put a hip up onto the edge of his desk.

"Morning, Smallville, nice tie."

"Good morning, L-"

"Busy tonight?"

"I don't think so-"

"I'll pick you up at eight." And she slid off his desk and into Richard's office before Clark could really process her on this dreary Monday. He watched her slink between the desks towards Richard and away from him, happy to drink her in after two days without her. The blinds were open and his eyes followed her through the door without realizing it.

Therefore, he was sure to see the way Richard caught her around the waist and into him, his arms coming to rest around her and a smile on his face. While anyone in the Bullpen could have seen them, no one noticed but Clark, no one appreciated the way she let herself fall into him, what it meant when she played with her men and trailed her fingertips along their arms...

She bobbed up on her toes and caught Richard's mouth in a kiss; Clark closed his eyes and held his breath, biting his lip, before anything unexpected happened. He didn't want to set anything ablaze in rage, but he was sorely tempted to. He saw her in his arms instead and swiveled back around in his chair, damning himself for having looked to begin with.

'She isn't yours.' He was staring at his monitor, trying to remind himself of this, begging his rationale to stop its dangerous, raging thoughts about Lois. This jealousy and lust, the _anger_ in him lately, the way he caught himself looking at her...

He realized yet again that he had pulled his hearing all the way in and looked around the busy Bullpen, currently in silence inside his mind. His senses washed back out into the room and he sat back, trying not to think about pressure against his lips.

"Hey CK!"

It was only a second later that Jimmy noticed the pained expression across his friend's face.

"Are you okay?" he voice sounded hesitant. Today had been hard enough already.

"Um," Clark took his fingers out of his ears, "I'm fine. What's up, Jimmy?"

"I think Lois is depressed."

" _She's_ depressed?" he snorted and blew out his mouth, the same as saying, 'sheesh!'

Jimmy narrowed his eyes, but let it go. Clark jerked his head and the younger man turned around, looking for whatever Clark was trying to point out.

Lois was nibbling on Richard's neck... he thought... under the guise of looking over his shoulder from behind his computer chair. It was Monday morning and the cleaning service always left the blinds open from over the weekend. Jimmy panicked and turned around back towards Clark.

"Ah!"

Jimmy stood puzzled and shocked. Clark's statement didn't make any sense. He would have expected the emphasis to be on the other word. And Lois shouldn't be nuzzling _anyone_ right now.

"Um."

Clark sighed, "She's too much for me, Jimmy, I can't stand it."

Jimmy sought out Clark's eyes and engaged him in concern; he was completely at ease with Clark, so much more so than Lois, and was sure Clark felt the same way. That's why they were best friends. Jimmy sensed something very odd in that statement, and was suddenly both worried and obvious about it, sure that Clark would elaborate at his unspoken question.

He didn't, so Jimmy prompted him.

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing. Well. She's hard to keep up with," he sounded like a man back-peddling.

Jimmy knew Clark very well, and so he knew this was true but _not_ what Clark had initially meant. He sensed that Clark was now uncomfortable with him, and really had been ever since he walked over. What was bothering him?

He thought of Lois doing inappropriate things to Richard mere minutes after confessing her liaison with another man. And he thought about the real reason Richard thought he had a son. Richard! Jimmy felt really sorry for Richard. Could that be bothering Clark? Did he know something? Maybe Lois had told him something else, another piece of the puzzle, and it weighed on him like it did on Jimmy.

He watched Clark watch Lois furtively past him, his magnified eyes drawn to Richard's office despite himself. Whatever was bothering Clark had to do with Lois, and she _already_ had the fate of her family and her impossible lover on the line. He hoped that whatever he was picking up from Clark wasn't too bad; Lois could only survive so long.

Jimmy could now feel tension all about him: an interplay of secrets, emotion, and desperation between his friends. Even Clark was wearing thin, but from what he didn't know. Jimmy looked around the Bullpen, wishing someone else could appreciate the weather. Jimmy _felt_ stormy today.

"You always manage."

"What?" Clark pulled his eyes away as he turned his face up towards Jimmy, confused.

"You always manage to keep up."

Clark's face darkened; he shot what Jimmy had to assume was an _angry_ glare towards the fireball that was Lois Lane, doing lord knew what to Richard, as Jimmy refused to turn around ever again.

"Only just barely, Jimmy, even at my fastest," he stared, lost in thought, biting his lip. "Only just barely."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to htbthomas, MoriahthePariah, Lucienne Grace, jjtheelusive, and Anonygirl, all of whom I owe its completion!


	13. 35 Minutes

"I have a similar story, actually," Clark offered into the darkness. Stake Out #2.

Lois looked across the car, her face once again glowing in the twilight of the car. She hypnotized him. He tilted his head to make better eye contact.

"Oh?"

"Yes, um, there was this really popular girl, you know, highschool royalty and dating the quarterback..." Clark stuttered a little as she gazed at him, smiling in good humor, "Who would randomly find me down an empty hallway or in the parking lot and ask me for advice. On everything. Like um, her parents, and money, and life and love and even on outfits..." he blushed at the memory, shaking his head.

He paused.

"... and she did this up until we graduated, but never acknowledged me in the light of day. I didn't really mind, actually. She was a good person. I didn't resent the fact that I was not good enough for her to be friends with." Clark only realized this as he said it, always having spontaneous epiphanies in front of Lois. He was dazed for a second as he drifted back into memory, realizing that the person he had been then was at once who he really was and just so _young_...

"You're a pushover, Clark."

That hurt his feelings! Clark looked over at her, surprised for just one second-

"...And I wish you weren't. You've got to get angry sometimes, get pissed off! Break something, say 'no.' Or better yet, ' _yes_!'"

"Yes."

"Good."

She flung her arm at him, gesturing in sarcastic disregard as she looked out the windshield and towards the city, "You worry me sometimes, Smallville."

Clark had grown to love that nickname, more than she could ever know. He sat back, trying not to smile in his affection for her. He liked her so much more at night, when they could talk, when she was his alone. He joined her in admiring the skyline out the front window; it had been her idea to park this way on the deck tonight, the warehouse now viewed from the passenger side, on Clark's right. He looked around about every ten minutes and saw nothing each time, so his gaze made its way back towards the city. It was just like old times, a perfect way to forget not remembering five extra years...

"I'll try to stand up for myself more, Lois."

He didn't need acknowledgment as the statement fell into silence.

Clark had been on guard tonight when he went down to the sidewalk to join Lois in her car, after she called up and let him know that she was double-parked outside his building. He lifted the passenger side handle, trying not to hit the side of the car that Lois was next to, and slid awkwardly into the seat through the half-open door. He had expected to come face to face with the harsh Lois of earlier that day, the one teasing Richard from their side of the Bullpen and snapping at people with a measured amount of bitter hatred ever since lunch. He knew from experience that Lois really hated the rain, or really any weather that rendered her unable to walk barefoot outside (so, most of the year was out, really...) and guessed that might have something to do with it. He was therefore surprised to find a calm and sad looking Lois, the Lois that resembled a little girl still hidden inside her, and he couldn't help himself but to ask if she was okay about a millisecond after taking in her expression

"I'm alive," was her only answer as she looked into the left-view mirror and put her blinker on, trying to get back into traffic. The ride across town was without words; the air conditioner was battling the humid aftermath of August rain and Lois had to keep flicking on the windshield wipers to combat the condensation there. Clark reached out to adjust the temperature of the airflow and noted that Lois didn't swat his hand away. He took a moment to relax, rubbing his own neck for a few minutes and staring at nothing.

Twenty minutes later they were winding up the ramps of the nearly abandoned parking deck, coming to rest across three spots at the top and looking out at a rare view of the skyline. The slow haunting music that Lois usually listened to in her worst moments was playing softly the entire ride, and now was putting a gentle strain on her car battery as they sat in thoughtful silence once again. Clark caught himself looking at the radio display as pianos harmonized somewhere in a studio, long ago.

In the pause that followed Clark's last statement about growing a spine he found himself back to thinking about the change in her from this afternoon to this evening. He thought perhaps it was because she was with him, and he again relished the idea of being alone with her, the comfortable intimacy that they often shared as both friends and near lovers. Clark was sometimes very happy to be who he was, to get to know her in two different silences, to see her smile for two different reasons. He thought he might have more of her to call his own than any other man, even if right now it was because he wasn't worth the effort to mask her face.

Sadness dueled with this warmth, many memories of people showing him things only because he was inconsequential to them, only because he was so harmless. He pouted a little and glanced at Lois, sorry for heaping these sorrowful thoughts upon her without her knowing. The music was reminding him of many lonely nights, and Clark thought suddenly of Jimmy and promised himself to take lunch with him tomorrow.

"What have I done, Clark." It was a statement, not a question. He looked at her, concerned. She stared at the city.

"What have I done?" Raw, breaking emotion.

"Lois...?"

She hung her head, staring at the logo in middle of the steering wheel.

"Tell me I'm a good person."

Clark was shocked, concern and affection pooling in the bottom of his mouth, his tongue tasting it there. This wasn't like her; Lois never needed to be told _anything_.

"You're a good person."

She took a shaky breath in reaction to this knee-jerk response. Clark felt the need to bolster the sentiment rather than letting his shallow reassurance serve alone.

"You change the world every week, Lois."

She turned to look at him, obviously distraught about some unspoken worry.

"But what about _my_ world, my _life_ , Clark? Do you know what I've... I..." she trailed off, hopelessly staring at him.

He stared at her, wondering what to do. In a different time and place, Clark might have eased his way into an excuse to leave the car and come to her minutes later as Superman, who would gather her in his arms and take her away with the confidence he needed in moments like these. He would gaze down at her sorrowful face, pretend he could see no pain, give her freedom in her misery, and distract her until she could sort through it.

But things were different, times had changed, 'they' had changed. He felt so powerless suddenly, trapped in two personas and so unable to help her. He knew she was here, in front of him, in pain, and was unable to properly help her.

"Do you mind if I smoke?"

"Not at all." He couldn't deny her anything in this moment, the maelstrom of the day puddling before him; he was worried about her. Maybe Jimmy was right, that she was depressed, a word not often reserved for Lois. But, he knew her, knew her self-destructive tendencies, the madness she was capable of. Clark wasn't sure what all the allusions to "a different Lois" were all about, interns remarking that she had undergone a change recently and the Chief asking him if he had noticed anything peculiar...

Lois snapped a match between the cardboard cover and the abrasive strip of the matchbook like a sailor on the high seas, tilting her head as she lit her cigarette, a cool confidence in her manner. Brown eyes burned bright in the flickering light and then the smell of sulfur filled his mind.

... no, she was just as dangerous and full of frenzy as she ever was; fire and brimstone. He did not underestimate her.

But since when did Lois ask if she was a good person? An image rose behind his eyes: the way she pushed her hips against Richard today snapped to Clark's mind, the gentle roll of her body, the way she made it seem like she was just taken into his arms, rather than _allowing_ him to hold her. His knowledge of moments like those was truly carnal, whether as a witness or as a participant, and he knew that she used that look in her darkest moments. He wondered what she was thinking as she licked her way across her fiancé's skin at 11:30 in the morning.

Clark felt his fists tighten, felt the _want_ in himself, the desire to claim her in front of everyone, just as Richard had today. Perhaps the reason for her soul-searching lay somewhere in those moments, for it did stand as evidence that whenever her unique sexuality made its way into the Bullpen that Lois was indeed misbehaving...

But these thoughts came up short. How odd to assume that her thoughts stemmed from there. It was almost like he was trying to make himself angry.

Smoke was swirling in the space between them. Lois' face had not changed in its miserable introspection. Clark became aware of his thoughtless pondering and blushed in the darkness, ashamed of himself. He looked away from her profile, even though he was sure she didn't mind his puzzled stare, and glanced down at the warehouse under pretense, unclenching his fist and happy he hadn't been holding anything.

"Do you remember playing Truth or Dare with the mayor?"

He heard the bleary smile in her voice and she gave a small laugh, "Yeah."

"That was the best interview I ever shared a byline on."

"He was an ass."

"He was flirting with you."

Lois laughed finally, a rush of smoke coming out her mouth and looking over at him.

" _Clark!_ " Clark Kent, making Lois Lane feel _scandalized_?

"It's true." He grinned.

"He did ask me if I had any 'interesting sexual preferences.'"

"But you answered."

She was grinning full-time now, and took a casual drag, "Yup, I did."

"Did you ever consider shutting him down on inappropriate behavior?"

"Of course."

"What stopped you?"

"He was a good man, good for this city, despite his vices."

"And so are you."

Lois paused in the midst of shifting in her seat. She looked surprised, fully aware that Clark rarely took such circuitous routes to reinforce a point.

"So I'm a womanizing drunk with a good heart and a skewed moral compass who keeps campaign promises, but gets convicted of _polygamy_?"

"Kind of." His voice was open, honest.

She laughed at him, smiling all the same, "Shut up, Smallville."

* * *

Lost in the daze of music and ambiance, Clark stared at Lois' reflection in the glass, again, feeling like this was the hundredth time he had sat here, despite it only being the second. He missed Lois' old car (it had more legroom) and wondered in sorrow what had happened to it.

Five years.

Lois looked miserable again, all attempts to cheer her fruitless and inappropriate. He knew how to leave Lois alone, knew when to just let her lie. A cramped, heavy feeling was making its way through him, inappropriate thoughts making the humidity seeping through the car hard to bear. Humid summer nights reminded Clark of a feeling of dissatisfaction, of not being able to get comfortable no matter how he laid in his bed, above the sheets, a stifling breeze blowing in from the city and making him think of Lois Lane. He wanted to fly again, and could not resist this time.

Lois' stomach gave a rumble.

"How about I go get us some sandwiches?""

It was 12:04 in the morning. Clark heard his mother's voice in his mind say, 'The Witching Hour,' and wondered how she was doing.

Offering to buy sandwiches at this hour would have been ridiculous in Kansas; superstitious sentiments about the power of unholy hours was equally out of place in this, his second home. He stared at the city, thinking of his favorite all-night bodega and wondering if it was still open.

Lois groaned at the suggestion, " _Clark_ , I am _so hungry_. Don't fucking tease."

"No, really," he started the long unfolding process that would allow him to sit up properly and put his shoes back on. He had not had the chance to change, having tracked down a hit and run driver outside Memphis and then attending to a boating accident in the Philippines on his evening rounds. He had just arrived home when Lois called and hadn't even gotten the chance to change his socks. He just couldn't sit in his work shoes all night.

"You're going to walk through the South Side _now_?"

'Why of course, Lois, I'm invincible!'

"I'll be fine, there was a deli on Bay, lend me your mace."

Lois pulled out the small fire extinguisher that was her bear-and-shark rated pepper spray from the glove compartment. Clark smiled, because it, unlike the car it was kept in, _was_ the same as the one five years ago. The sight of it stirred some unknown nostalgia, and a true smile spread across his face as he looked at the dented and battle-tested can offered to him across the car. He took it and placed it next to him on the seat as he bent over to pull on his shoes. He didn't mind leaving her without it, since he would be back in five minutes and would watch the car for as long as it took for the wait to be believable. He struggled with the short laces in the darkness, folding in half across his own lap.

"I'll be back," he offered a minute later, grabbing the mace and then getting out of the car. He locked the door as it shut gently in his wake, and he turned to walk down the deck and out of sight. Clark shot into the sky moments later, being sure not to slice any sound waves too thin, and performed a perfect, arc across the sky towards Downtown. Sometimes he would just glance in a direction, get his bearings, and then speed through the air with his eyes closed, surrendering to instinct and form in the weightlessness of his existence.

He left Earth behind him, stretched every muscle as his body released its hold on gravity, and then spun like a bullet through buildings and streets after finishing his calculated vault across the bay. It felt liberating, new, as if he didn't fly as often as he walked... and he decided to weave in and out of the streets, hanging near 90 degree turns every other intersection and favoring a more sportive Homing missile flight-path (as opposed to the ballistic).

_'Stop hiding...'_

Clark moved lower as he jetted past the buildings that lined 74th, thinking ahead to his turn down Kennedy, and decided to playfully buzz a group of late-night bar goers waiting in line outside one of the many nightclubs in this area. He chuckled as a resounding chorus of "AHHH! HOLY SHIT!" echoed through his mind, already speeding towards the intersection where he hoped the Titov's still kept their 24/7 bodega. _  
_

Seconds later a wind-blown Clark Kent approached the harsh fluorescent lights of the store, which shone out on the sidewalk from between the hundreds of brand advertisements, lottery charts, and cigarette signs in the windows. The young man behind the counter didn't even look up from his Playboy when the little jingle of the door opening and closing alerted him to the presence of a customer. Fast dilating pupils looked over the frames of his glasses while Clark peered through the rear wall, cheered to see the illegal poker games were still going strong. He approached the counter.

"Excuse me, is the deli open?"

The young man, who Clark realized with a jolt had been a gangly teenager the last time he saw him, slid off the stool without really looking, put down the Playboy, and looped an apron over his shirt. Anton, the name having a hard time associating itself with the body, gave Clark a bothered look and said, "Yup." He turned to the counter and took out a pair of food handling gloves with obvious languor.

Clark shook the unreality of losing five years from his head _again_ and quickly realized that he didn't know what to get Lois, the customary turkey and bologna on rye with mayo no longer appropriate. He gave his standard sandwich order and then stood staring at the deli case and thinking. Anton paused halfway through digging for the special horseradish Clark had pointed out way towards the front of the case and peered up through the Plexiglas at him.

His head popped up next to the deli scale a second later.

"Mr. Kent?"

Clark gave a small smile, "Hello, Anton."

"'Red horseradish with corned beef on rye dill pickles coleslaw mustard on the side,' _I knew it_!," he rambled excitedly, "Where on earth have you been!"

Clark _hated_ that question.

"I quit my job and did a little soul-searching, for um, five years."

The young man laughed and went back under the counter, rummaging for the corned beef, "We wondered about you, you were one of our most regular customers!"

Clark had saved Anton's baby sister late one night when he first came to Metropolis and before he had really mastered how to hear in the big city. Used to miles of silence in all directions for most of his life, and only needing to deal with one year on a college campus up until that point, Clark found himself up late at night trying to filter thousands of conversations out of his mind and not go insane. It was during one of these early bouts of insomnia that he heard panicked words float up from an apartment building down the street, and got Diana to the hospital in time to break the fever. At some point in their thankful blubbering the worried parents had mentioned their fledgling business here in the city, and Clark had been a patron ever since, always keeping a large place in his heart for the little couple and their little store. And even their little illegal gambling ring.

They also had really, really good coleslaw.

"It was a split-second decision; I didn't let many people know. I regret that now, I've lost touch with a lot of people." Oh! Lois! "Do you think you could melt some provolone over some sweet peppers and fried onions on a hard roll for me?"

'That was a good late-night snack for a vegetarian, right?' he wondered to himself.

Anton smiled, "Did she send you all the way over here at this hour?" Clark stood puzzled for a second before looking up and at the sandwich board towards the ceiling. Half-eclipsed by hanging signs from ad campaigns for soda companies gone by the was description of the sandwich Clark had just requested, with the words 'The Lois Lane' hand-written in dry-erase neon blue.

Clark tilted his head, surprised, and stared as his sandwich was wrapped in wax paper and slid into a bag, "But you forgot the mustard."

"Oh, um, right..." He smiled sadly, hanging his head, longing rushing over him without his knowing why. Anton shook his head, smiling while he reached for the cheese, "...and mustard, please."

* * *

Since he had to carry his clothes against his chest _and_ hold the handles of the plastic bag with their second dinner, Clark dropped his favorite belt on a rooftop between 62nd and 53rd. He couldn't be sure which one. He may save countless lives each year, but being Superman was often simply _irritating_.

And it was really starting to bother him. The suit, the excuses, the inconvenience of everything being so inconvenient. It was-

Clark came up short as he circled wide around the parking deck, his legs coming up under him in practiced ease and hovering with his arms full as he stared down at the top-most deck. In the ten minutes that he had been gone Lois had made her way to the edge of the top level, standing on a concrete wall only about a foot wide and gazing out at the city. Clark looked quickly left and right for a place to stash his clothing and the plastic bag, settled them on top of a roof three buildings away and cautiously glided back up and behind her, looking for some clue to her actions. He expanded his hearing out towards her while concern lingered through him; normally he would just chalk it up to Lois being Lois, or even guess that she was keeping a hungry lookout for a Clark bearing food... But the tenor of tonight, the words they had exchanged mere minutes ago caused him more than curiosity.

Thinking of different ways to approach her without startling her or causing her to slip, Clark decided to just circle wide and try to enter her peripheral vision, hoping it would seem more like a coincidence than a plan of attack. Truth be told he had not wanted to see her like this quite so soon again; he had spent so little time with her as Superman over the last three and a half months, and there was still so much between them that he honestly, and unexpectedly, was now much more at ease with her as her partner. Clark was a disguise for the world, and Superman a disguise for Clark, but he had never really wanted to feel hidden more than he had over these last few, terrible months and he found the only way to do that was to stay himself. To just be Clark.

Despite this, he could not ignore the obvious import of the sight before him: if there was a message meant only for him, for Superman, then it was Lois Lane standing on the edge of a building, inches from falling to her death, waiting. Because if she'd been standing merely _near_ the edge, still on the fresh cement and mere feet from her car, Clark would have walked up with the sandwiches and a simple, "What's up, Lois?"

Her heartbeat fast in his ears, the ghostly music from her car filtering through his mind, Clark moved so that the angle between them became more acute, and then Lois' eyes moved to his place in the sky. A small tilt of her head invited him forward, and Clark melted at the sight of her so miserable in front of him. He could be a wanted criminal with his face on every paper in the city, and yet seeing Lois like this would draw him out of any hiding place. He came closer, and from all his years of knowing her he suspected that whatever she was about to say or do was going to be unpredictable. Clark had realized recently that this was one thing that Richard failed to know and understand about Lois: you can never learn to anticipate her, you can only hope to anticipate _needing_ to anticipate.

He drifted close to her, directly in front of her, suspended above the alley beneath them and at a respectful distance. He opened his mouth, she waved a hand to silence him.

"May I have five minutes of your time?"

He waited a moment to see if she would silence him again, then responded, "Certainly, Ms. Lane."

She took a step out, as casual as if walking onto a solid surface, and rested her right foot on his left. She was already barefoot and had known he would come, had known he would face her exactly as he was, and then all thought ceased as an open palm smoothed its way up his chest to come around and hold his neck securely. An obvious, intimate, and unexpected gesture, it stopped the breath in his lungs and her face was suddenly far too close.

"Bring me up," she pointed uselessly at the sky, her fingers brushing gently against the back of his neck and far more than necessary. A nervous, cartoon-like gulp made his Adam's apple bob up and down and he tried to get his bearings in the stifling air.

"Just up?" he practically whispered, the last twenty seconds just too much to process with Lois indulging her tactile needs across his body, her other hand resting on his bicep a sorry excuse for stroking her thumb across the alien material beneath her fingertips. He started moving upward, as gentle as he could, hypnotized once again by her, the misery around her eyes at once an easy reminder of her more destructive tendencies in times of depression. It was a call to temptation that was hard to resist in the early days of August.

"Just up. High enough to be cool, low enough that I don't suffocate."

"Okay," he said plainly, then cleared his throat quickly, "Alright," he corrected his mindless response, trying to regain a moment of sanity by deepening his voice. Perhaps if he sounded sure of himself he could convince his lungs to breathe properly. She just kept looking at him without offering any explanation. He tilted his head up towards the atmosphere and accelerated, the feeling of open air a relief after the close proximity of Lois' unreadable expression. Her warmth breath against his skin made him lightheaded, and he tried not to worry about whatever was about to happen.

He directed their bodies straight up for about a two minutes at a relatively slow pace, until they were very, very high.

"Here?"

"Fine."

Lois sounded calm, like a woman resolved to an impossible task. The following silence began to worry him until she spoke up:

"I hate the rain."

It was very obviously not raining, either where they began or now, above the clouds.

"I like the rain," he offered, "It is refreshing to fly in. But I dislike humidity?" it wasn't really a question, more a prompt.

She gave him a shy smile and plucked a lock of hair from behind her ear, showing him her frizzy strands in the near pitch darkness, the moon not yet fully risen, "Me too."

More silence. He watched her as she gazed down at the grid of Metropolis, stretching so far into the distance that they could see where its lit borders faded into the darkness of the suburbs. The ocean was just inky blackness, a humbling look at humanity's tentative grasp on the habitable surfaces of the planet.

Lois took a deep breath, "Now drop me."

"I'm sorry?" the fake confidence left him.

"Drop me, and let me fall as long as possible."

'Absolutely not!' his mind provided.

Yet speculation moved in him, had him wondering what she was seeking: fear? danger? freedom?

"Lois..." He would not do it. He could obviously catch her, even fly along near her, but there was something so reckless in the request that made him nervous. He never wanted to take his powers for granted, never wanted to play with them, so to speak. Why put her in mortal danger if he didn't need to, and how could he just _let_ her fall? It was so counter-instinctual that he-

"Please."

He applied a little pressure with his hands where they rested gently across her lower back, overtly reluctant. Yet he said no more, didn't try to dissuade her past saying her name in a way that begged she think better of it, and they both knew his silence meant he would do it. He just needed time to get used to the idea. Clark looked at her, could not stop himself from letting his eyes wander all over her face, using every part of him to try and understand the Lois that was manifesting itself today. There were so many of her, they sent him in every direction, and he loved them all.

"What are you looking for?"

She responded with a question, something he was used her doing before she'd give a real answer:

"Is there any thrill in your life? Knowing that you can't die or even feel pain, at least not outside of the most extreme circumstances? Do you feel the," she searched for another word but apparently settled on the most appropriate again, " _thrill_ of living sometimes?"

"I..." he thought about it, "I believe I do, but evidently it must be different than what you feel..." He had no real answer; he would probably end up thinking about this for the rest of the week, like he usually did whenever Lois asked him fascinating, existential questions.

"I haven't _really_ felt anything in a very long time, no thrills, nothing," she offered, looking down at the city now and expressionless.

Clark tilted his head. That was odd, really... she hadn't seemed 'unfeeling' or less than stimulated lately. In fact, she seemed just as full of life as ever, especially over the last few weeks. He suddenly started to wonder at the mask she let drop in the car, the way she answered automatically to his polite inquires as they sat in the stillness, and contemplated what was real and what was not in Lois Lane right now...

Slowly Clark released his customary grip on her, took her away from the shelter and power of his body and supported her loosely while she just simply stood on his feet. A crisp, cool feeling rose up in the new space between their bodies and a sense of loss came over him, his warm body missing her complementing heat. Still he kept her guarded while she stood unsteadily, her weight shifting across her toes while she sought balance away from the support of being held flush against him. Clark held her waist with just his fingers and looked down at the city beneath them, aware of the height for the first time in years.

"Alright, now..." he paused, thinking about how to do this, "I'm going to... drop you," it was difficult to _say_ , even, "but I'm not going to let you fall. I will match your speed and, well, you'll see." He cleared his throat and was sorely tempted to just pull her towards him again, "I'll let you free-fall for a few seconds, and if at any point this becomes too much..." he trailed off at her look.

Their eyes locked on each other, the anticipation of the moment palpable, Clark finally whispered into the altitude, "One... two," Lois tensed, "...three."

His hands came away from her waist and she fell backwards, a gentle, swooping movement that soon had her accelerating away from him, speeding towards earth and against every instinct in his body. Clark clenched his fists while he kept his keen eyes on her, and counted to five before giving into his burning need to follow her.

She looked like a marionette, arms and legs suspended, her hair and clothing swirling around her and her features frozen in shock. He glanced her terrified expression as he came up to match her speed, felt wonder at what it must be like to feel the rush of being pulled towards nothing and so completely out of control.

And then, it began. Slowly he brought his body nose to toe with hers, not really touching, but as close as lovers. His arms came out and towards her, encircling her and holding her loosely, but matching her speed so exactly as to not disrupt the fall. Slowly he turned her in midair to face the ground, reassuring her startled gasp with a murmur, and aligning their bodies parallel to the earth. With her back to his chest, his hands came to rest lightly against her warm body, one arm across her breastbone and a hand resting against her shoulder, the other across her hips, both palms flat. They were gazing at the sprawling metropolis beneath them, and Clark applied an infinitesimal amount of counter-force, gently easing the pull of gravity. Lifted from the grip of the planet, Lois would feel almost weightless, the uncontrollable descent now indescribable in human experience.

The closest Clark could come to defining this feeling (as he did this on occasion, trying to match the pull of gravity to the laws of acceleration) was to liken it to that split second feeling of going over a particular kind of bump in a car, that _swoop!_ that lifts you from your seat but makes your stomach drop. He felt Lois relax in his arms, watched her hair reflect the weightlessness of their bodies, now floating gently behind her head and tickling his neck and face. The fast-approaching city filled their whole field of vision, the sense of space and size at the forefront of their minds, the pressure of his hands against her body was felt by both of them. Clark turned his head into hers and closed his eyes for one precious second, pressing her tightly to him, her legs coming up between his as he began to slow their fall.

If she wanted a thrill, then he would give her one. He would not stop them and scoop her into his arms and carry her away once the the ground came too close. Instead, he began to apply more measured pressure with every second, even as the earth still rushed towards them, even as Lois tensed, finally really afraid, wondering when he would stop engaging the planet in a game of chicken.

He slowed them more with each second, compensating for acceleration, but Lois still gasped when they came even with the Deddon Building and then kept on going.

They were ten feet above the waterfront, directly off Macintyre Boulevard before Clark stopped, Lois' legs now hanging towards the street, their faces still gazing downwards and her body now crushed to his, a fever coursing across his skin. Her heart was pounding in his ears he slowly moved to scoop her legs out from under her as he resumed a normal mid-air stance, adjacent to the ground, and looked down into her flush face as he held her like a man preparing to cross a threshold. The hot, sticky air felt strange against his tingling face and he was never more alive than in that moment, contemplating the kind of thrill it was to have Lois Lane breathless and wide-eyed in his arms.

* * *

Clark tapped gently on the window about five minutes later and waved jovially through the door at a startled Lois. Obviously wind-blown and still reeling from the experience of falling from the heavens in the arms of weightlessness, Lois fumbled with the door controls before being able to unlock the car. Clark slid in and smiled at her, licking his lips at her awed expression.

"Sandwiches!" he held up the bag.

Lois swallowed, speaking for the first time since they stood in the sky, and the sound was a little raspy, "Thank-" she cleared her throat while Clark rummaged around and took out her mace, returning it to the glove compartment, "Thank you."

She held out a hand in the darkness for her namesake sandwich and started to unroll the package across her lap while Clark read the labels on the two iced teas he bought. He handed her the diet green and broke the vacuum seal on his own black tea with lemon before tearing off the corner of a mustard packet and trying to get comfortable.

"This is my favorite, Clark!" she said suddenly and with wonder, "How did you know?"

"I, um, guessed," he squeezed a little bit of mustard out onto the bread and took a measured bite. Spice and meat burst across his tongue and he sighed in contentment, flying always a sure way to make him really hungry.

Lois was already inhaling her sandwich, true to her unapologetic form and obviously starved. She moaned in delight and Clark knew her mood was lifted, the haze gone. Sure enough, a recently licked finger stabbed suddenly across the cabin, hitting a preset on her radio and turning the mood from one of quiet introspection to jazzy relaxation.

Even though the car was off and the cabin stifling from the lack of temperature controlled air, Lois took a second to glare at the innocent knob that Clark had gently adjusted a mere thirty-five minute lifetime ago. She reached out and snapped the indicator back to solid blue and away from the gentle gradient of blue-red.

He grinned and squeezed more mustard onto his sandwich, waiting for it:

"Don't touch the damn thermostat, Smallville, I'll kill you."


	14. Horizon Lines

"In other news, Middle-Eastern governments are reacting..."

Seven members of the Bullpen elite held up glasses towards the news monitors near their desks, cried "HO!" in unison and tipped back their heads to take shots of tequila out of mini water cups from the bathroom. Jimmy put down his cup and looked sick, Clark grimaced and shook his head like a dog, Lois slammed hers back down and smacked her lips, and Kyle tipped all the way back in his chair and groaned.

"... citing the terrorist group..."

"HO!" Seven shots.

"Oh god Lois, make it stop..."

"No, I just made this list, you like it, shut up," Lois snapped back as she moved around the circle of desks, sloshing liquor on mouse pads and filling up everyone's twin cups. It was 8:15 at night and Lois' old crew was smaller than it had once been, some members getting too old and tired for late night drink-a-thons in the middle of the week, some with families and wives to go home to now. The still single and unattached members of her old collective of miserable misfits sat around for one of Lois famous drinking games, still all editing their day's work on their monitors and thinking sadly about alcohol gone by.

The Bullpen was dim, someone was playing quiet music out of their speakers, and it had the late-night feel of an academic library come finals. It was some version of the respectful silence humans could share in universal self-pity.

Clark stared at the news, horrified that some great emergency was going to crop up at any second, and he kept sending furtive glances at everyone else, drunkenly paranoid that one of them would notice. He recalled that years ago, when Lois first invited him to one these games ("Move Smallville, we need your desk. Actually, you know what, never mind. Stay.") that he had thought it was a cold and heartless thing to do, drinking on cue to the keywords of human chaos. But now, after years of having people walk away from his protective arms without so much as a 'thank you' he was starting to appreciate the professional detachment, if not dark amusement, that his journalist colleagues threw towards the monitors as they debated whether "multiple homicides" was the same as "killing spree."

Pictures moved across his vision, well-kept anchors moved from one topic to another without letting their eyes shift as they read teleprompters, and Clark contemplated being Superman, just as he had done upon returning to earth. Why should he lend his every waking moment to a planet of selfish, greedy, ignorant people who (despite his constant efforts) did seemingly _nothing_ to end their own destructive behavior... what difference did he _actually_ make?

And yet, even in these moments of cynical digression he still sat on tenterhooks over the news feed. This is how he lived his life, this was his misery, to be on edge about everything: about Lois, the world, fatherhood...

Lois misinterpreted his dazed expression, "Look at you, drunky, wake up!"

"Lois, I think this game is really swell..." she laughed in his face as she filled his cups, "... but maybe we've played long enough..."

'...as I am now contemplating why the world doesn't need Superman...' he finished the thought sadly.

"Ugh, Lois, I really hate tequila," Jimmy suddenly added as if answering Clark, the words muffled from between his arms from where he sat with his head down on Lois' desk, his chair pulled up besides hers. She turned around from attending to Clark and picked up a remote to turn up the volume on the closest monitor in response. Kyle groaned again.

"Superman's efforts to stem the mudslide..."

"HO!"

"OhgodI'mgoingtobesick..."

"Sit the next one out, Jimmy, I'm not trying to kill you," Lois said this with a grimace, as she too hated tequila. The only reason they were drinking it was because it was the last bottle left at the _Planet_ from Lois' old secret stash (under the sink in the breakroom), gone unopened this long for that very reason: they all loathed it. Clark was now moping and sent another look around the polygon of slid-together desks.

Janet, hailing from Business on the 18th floor, was back reliving old times after accepting a new position Downstairs about two years ago. Recently divorced, she was spending more time around her old friends, trying to rekindle old connections and memories of easier times. She was sitting near Clark, whom she had not heard was back, and was glancing around with bleary eyes. It was, after-all, a _handle_ of Mexico's finest. Clark sent a small smile at her that Jimmy noticed before he put his head back down.

Maurice looked like he was trying to taste his own tongue and had been staring at his phone for ten minutes.

* * *

Richard pulled his fingers in from prying open the blinds and let two slats snap shut. He moved his face away from the window and went back towards his desk, easing the tension that standing across his office had put on his phone cord.

"She's drinking."

_"At work?" Laughter filled this statement._

"Yeah, it's a tradition apparently, one that was abandoned only when she realized she was pregnant and that she never really took up again. Another resurrected memory..." Richard gave a long-suffering sigh as he sat back down and kicked his stocking feet up onto the desk.

_"Hmmm?"_

"You would not believe the number of stories I've been told recently." _  
_

There was a pause in the conversation, Richard listened to Jake type something out fifteen hundred miles away.

"How's Emily?"

"Vengeful. She threw out all my magazines while I was gone, claimed they were overtaking the bathroom and upsetting the balance of the universe. Or something." Jake sighed into the phone; he was a living example of a faceless marriage, the kind that ends in two people simply sharing a residence rather than living together. He lectured Richard on the joy of a prolonged engagement whenever he bemoaned the fact that Lois put their nuptials off for another year, "See? You have it good, Rich."

Richard rolled his eyes at no one and shook his head. He should have never mentioned Emily, he could hear it coming. He tried to stem the flow before the looming conversation about marriage got the chance to bleed to death-

"What about th-"

"-you should be happy she doesn't want to marry you," Jake finished his thought.

Richard stopped dead in his attempt, " _What?_ "

"Um..."

"Just because she's pushed it off a little-"

"-she's pushed it off _three years_ -"

"-that doesn't mean..." Richard sighed, defeated, and realized he should not bother ignoring the truth he had so recently discovered: "Fuck, Jake. I don't even think I know her anymore," he hung his head, pressing the phone against his ear, listening to another muffled "HO!" from the Bullpen.

"What do you mean?"

"She's been so different lately, I'm just... it's small things, like stuff I never noticed before, not since-"

"-Superman came back."

"Um, no. Since _Clark_ came back," Richard took a deep breath, "I told you, and nothing's changed since."

"Richie..."

"No, listen, for the hundredth time-"

"No, you listen-"

"Shut up!"

Silence.

"Look," Jake tried another route and made himself to sound understanding, "I know you don't want to think about competing with the world's most eligible alien..."

Jake, who had _not_ left the United States for five years after college, had been the first person to respond with, "Lois _LANE_? _The_ Lois Lane?" when Richard confessed that he had impregnated a one night stand. Richard, of course, had heard of her every Thanksgiving that he could remember spending with his uncle, but he didn't know that she was something of a celebrity outside the circle of Uncle Perry's professional journalist world. It was an unwelcome shock to hear recognition in Jake's voice, and he struggled to explain his actions:

"She found me at a bar, no red-blooded heterosexual man would have said no, trust me..." had been his initial response to Jake's questioning his choice of bedmates so soon after landing such a career advancing position. Jake had understood, made commentary on the 'modern woman,' and had bolstered his sentiments that maybe being a father would 'be fun.'

But, becoming aware of her minor tabloid status made those first weeks an even tougher time in Richard's life, as he never wavered from "doing the right thing" but really would have preferred to have actually _known_ the woman who would be the mother of his first child. And then there was the matter of how ridiculously intimidated he had been when he _did_ get to know her: how she lived, how she worked, his uncle's reaction so soon after being employed in his newspaper...

And then, Jake took the time to clue him into the Superman story and the reasons people cared about the personal life of his earthly ambassador. Emily read a lot of tabloids and was a well of suspicion and gossip about the swelling journalist with a haunted expression on her face in the first months of her pregnancy. As soon as they got wind of who Richard was now hopelessly attached to, they had launched into the 'but what about _Superman_?' discussion:

"What do you mean, _Superman's human mistress_? That's ridiculous."

It _did_ seem ridiculous, but there wasn't much time to dwell on it, so any suspicion was short-lived. Instead, Richard realized that having a baby, trying to convince a strong woman to marry him for the sake of the child, turning his childhood home into a place for a new family, getting to know the steel-trap that was Lois... was a lot more important and consuming than a missing alien who used to grant Lois interviews and the useless gossip that followed. But the shock lingered well into her second trimester, and the intimidation followed him ever since.

Jake had taken a longer time in being blasé re: The Superman Idea and actually tried to bring it up whenever Richard noted any problem or confusion about Lois. Truthfully, Richard had rarely given Superman a second thought, especially as He had disappeared and was wholly considered dead by most of the world. Besides, this professional liaison was unreal, the kind of stories his Uncle Perry used to tell, and she never even talked about it.

Hence, Superman's impact on Lois never had the chance to register with Richard until Lois almost died a mile off the surface of the planet and soon after was kidnapped in a flurry of near-death. Then, just as suddenly as Richard had become attached to _the_ Lois Lane, _the_ Superman was back in their lives. And Jake freaked out.

Yet, Lois had taken it all in stride and he told Jake (who rang his phone for two straight days after Superman returned) for the eighth time that he was just going to approach the subject:

"If I don't just ask her what am I going to do? Besides, what is _she_ going to do? Leave me and Jason to fly around the world with Superman and live at the North Pole? So what if there was something, it was a lifetime ago for her. And if there _is_ something there she'll chase after it eventually, won't she? I'm just going to ask her. It _will_ work! "

And that was exactly what Richard had done. Assuming the worst, hoping for the best, he had gone all out.

In a way.

He had asked her, directly, and stood back, indirectly. He didn't want to put pressure on her, didn't want to seem suspicious or insert his own paranoid opinion into the cauldron of emotion he saw stir in Lois when Superman reappeared suddenly and seemingly for the sole purpose of saving her life. He didn't comment on the subsequent interview, and even helped a man who up until recently had thought could not die. He didn't say a word or let Lois see a hint of emotion on his face when he heard the desperation in her voice and finally, finally and most significantly, suggested he drive her to the hospital to stand by his bedside.

For every moment of that week (and the next and the next) Richard waited for a conversation, waited for a confession, wondered at the past. And nothing happened. Superman was miraculously resurrected and that was it. Lois got up, ate her breakfast, and went about life in such a normal way that any claim that she was pining over an old lover was just... unlikely. He could detect no change, other than those she manifested at the office.

He had explained this all to Jake, assured him that his non-interference was important in that Lois did not react defensively and feel the need to cover herself, and just... that was it. No real Superman problem; in fact their "working" relationship was actually quite interesting, and certainly a good story.

But Jake still brought it up every chance he could; Richard suspected he was secretly fascinated by it, by the idea of having a woman coveted by such a powerful man. Richard turned from old thoughts and back to the conversation at hand:

"Besides, I've seen them together..."

"You said she was desperate for him to stay in the plane!"

"I mean since then! Listen..."

* * *

"Just what _in the hell_ do you people think you're doing?" Perry was an old man, and so many "HO's!" was one too many. He slammed open his office door and stalked across the Bullpen, aiming straight for Lois. Clark, who had the worst poker face on the planet, caught his eye first as he rounded the aisle.

"Um..."

"Pull up a shot glass, Perry, stay awhile!" suggested Lois from where she was blowing out her keyboard with a compressed air can from the supply closet, "Crazy! Look at all the dust; how long have I had this keyboard-?"

"Do you realize it's _Tuesday_?" You had to interrupt Lois when she was drunk if you could even entertain making a point.

Clark groaned. He hated Tuesdays.

"So what, it's Tuesday, I can't get drunk on a Tuesday?" A small _feather_ made its way past her Tab key and swirled around, settling in Jimmy's hair.

"You can, but what about these sorry excuses for journalists that you've gathered around you? Hi, Janet." He sent a head-nod in her direction. She was currently sitting at Betty's desk and looking quite content in her renewed whimsy.

"Hellooooo Mr. White!"

"Shush Janet, you're too drunk to live," came Maurice, trying to play Tetris on his computer and really far too intoxicated to keep up with the keys as his stack of blocks approached the top of the screen.

Clark gave Janet a sympathetic look, Perry glared at Maurice who was two days late on the circulation statistics.

"You know, you're like the Pied Piper to Hell, Lois," he gestured at Clark and Jimmy, both of whom looked by far the worst for wear. Clark, a sucker for historic allusions of any kind, gave a personal grin while he slid further down in his chair. Kyle snorted and mimed playing a flute at Lois; she glared at him and sent a harmless shot of cold air in his direction. Jimmy hadn't moved in ten minutes.

"I'm toughen-ning them up, now sit down, the news waits for no man!" she waved the air can above her head.

Perry looked up after she gestured towards the monitor and everyone decided to pay attention to the steady world commentary for the first time in five, dazed minutes.

"...discussing immigration and its impact on..."

Lois looked down at the list, checking, "Nope. But I'll add it," and penciled in the word 'immigration' under 'stock exchange.' Perry was sure she spelled it wrong. She looked up and sounded a solitary, "Ho!"

"Screw you, Lois, you can't drink retroactively..." came Kyle.

Lois crushed her empty solo cup, "The hell I can't!"

" _Lois_ ," Perry sighed on the word to push his idea forward, "Go home and take these idiots with you; hangovers won't get them out of the staff meeting tomorrow! God damnit, RICHARD!"

"Shut up, Perry!" Lois flapped her hand in a shushing gesture and looked around at Richard's office worriedly.

"You think he doesn't _know_?"

"Oh he knows, I just don't want to go home yet..." Lois was still facing the office, and missed the shrewd look that must have crossed his face. Kent, who noticed _everything_ , looked away quickly when Perry shot a questioning glance his way. His non-existent poker face coupled with an obvious buzz let more than Clark could know cross his face. Downcast eyes and the fact that his right hand started to fiddle with his jacket meant that Clark knew something, knew Perry would see it, and wanted to keep it to himself.

'Humph. Interesting. When he starts keeping her secrets for her I know something is really wrong.'

The editor stared at the side of Clark's face as he moved backwards to settle onto the edge of Jimmy's desk. Kent was one of the _Planet's_ secret weapons, hidden in Lois' shadow. Perry knew that the mild-mannered reporter deserved an award that did not exist (save Sainthood) and was forever unrealized in their professional circles as the intellect that he was. Almost as responsible for her ground breaking journalism as she was, being Clark Kent meant only so much when you stood next to Lois Lane, and Perry lamented the unsung efforts in the man before him: rather than recognition for his researching, fielding, or editing her stories, Clark instead stood silent in his most important role as a vital _sustaining force_ in her _life_.

She told him more of her sins than anyone, let go most of the kinds of thoughts that could kill a person, and he kept them closer to his heart than all the priests in all the churches in all the dioceses in all the world. Clark served a stint as another part of Lois' soul, stored carefully in the only person with a long enough attention span to stand her. And Superman, while a sentinel against physical evil, could not play such an important role in her life so far removed from it, so hidden behind ideals and symbolism, so untouchable and perfect.

Clark Kent was the man responsible for most of Lois Lane's secrets. And if Perry was correct, it kept her alive.

Perry directed his gaze away from the flushed face of awkward innocence and towards the closed blinds of unfortunate ignorance. Richard could never know that the role he had stepped into, as the male who took up most of Lois' time over the last five years, was only a temporary one. That was what he was finally realizing.

Sometimes something can change your mind in an instant, and Richard's indirect observations about Clark had made Perry's perspective shift for the first time in eight years of knowing the man.

Clark Kent.

Brilliance wrapped in awkward farmboy. Who, Perry now realized, was the oxygen for the fire, the only person Lois Lane both let listen and _listened to_. Perry turned to look at Lois, a heel hooked in her drawer handle and her head tilted back, staring intensely at her Pulitzer (which Perry had demanded she hang). Brilliance wrapped in the devil, incarnated as a beautiful, unapologetic woman.

In a typical, distracting way, Perry had a wayward thought and wondered for a brief instant what Superman saw in her. They were so different.

So, the point was: Richard made Perry realize that Lois _had_ changed, but not in the time since Clark's return - she had changed in the five years prior, and had only _reverted_ in these past three and a half months.

The distinction was everything.

He had thought it was motherhood.

He had thought it was Superman's disappearance.

He had thought it was Richard's proposal.

He had thought it was _anything_ but Clark Kent.

Clark didn't occur to you, didn't strike you with his presence or his absence, he just came and was gone. What he said didn't register, his silence wasn't obvious. He was Clark, and until Richard had pointed this out to him, Perry had never noticed never noticing. Now, Kent was on his mind whenever Lois was.

It was... unfamiliar to Perry, to have missed something like this. Because now it seemed like the most obvious thing in the world, now small moments stood out like blaring horns in the fog of years:

_Five years ago:_

"What do you mean ' _he resigned yesterday_?' That _fuck_ , now who's going to pick up my dry cleaning?" He hadn't told her.

"By the way, I'm taking Clark's desk, my top right drawer is broken." A physical connection, as well as some kind of stab at his ghost.

"I wonder if single women get pregnant in _Kansas_ , hahahaha." A self-depreciating moment, the kind she would always try to lighten by making fun of him.

_Four years ago:_

"I'm not picking a partner Perry, I work alone, you know that." What a ridiculous statement.

"We're not going to Betty's, I _hate_ Betty's." Clark's favorite diner.

"I don't care about post cards, stop showing them to me! He sends me one more and I'm going to move!" She did, soon after, and refused to forward her mail.

"Stop telling that story, Jimmy, I don't want to hear it anymore, can't you tell _other_ stories?"

_Three years ago:_

"I don't want a partner, Perry! GOD DAMNIT!" she slammed the door in his face.

"Who's Clark Kent?" A newbie reading a plaque. "No one," Lois answered over Jimmy's enthusiastic response.

_Two years ago:_

"I haven't got anyone, Perry," a rare, desperate, drunken moment. She had called him for a ride home, having maxed out her credit card on one of her Lost Weekends while Richard and Jason were off visiting Perry's sister at her shore house upstate. Lois was never alone anymore, and had curbed her behavior so significantly that the aged editor had thought these nights were behind her forever, "No one _listens to me_ anymore."

_One year ago:_

"'And golly, I forgot where I put my hat!'" the punch line to a redneck joke that Lois had rolled her eyes at, smiling in a sentimental way, as if it were a memorable story and not Heather reading a forwarded e-mail aloud.

Perry looked now at Lois, resplendent in her stupor, surrounded by old friends and currently patting Jimmy fondly on the head where he was probably drooling on her desk.

She was back.

He looked over to Clark again, who was as usual trying to look at _her_ without anyone noticing.

And so was he.

Her secret keeper, her devoted servant, the one man unaffected by her...

_'But_ you know what was odd, though?' He looked back at Lois, now trying to tickle Jimmy with the random feather...

She had hated Clark for leaving, had damned his memory - just like Superman's - had refused to say or hear his name. Yet here, everything seems back to normal. Perry looked on as Clark tried not to smile at Lois trying to annoy Jimmy. She caught his eye and they shared an amused look; Clark made a silent gesture that indicated she should tickle more aggressively.

Where had all that resentment gone?

* * *

"It was actually quite terrifying."

_"But you flew with Superman! Again!"_

"I was _rocketed through existence_ with Superman, it felt like my skin was going to rip off, Jake, not fun."

_"So that was it?"_

Richard sighed.

"It was a like battlefront meeting, nothing else." Richard was suddenly reminded of the _other_ crisis he'd been having lately.

_"So still nothing?"_

"There's something, but nothing like everyone keeps implying. She knows everything about him, is his press liaison, and from what I can gather, especially from seeing them interact, the big secret is that she's his _friend_."

"I'm telling you Richard-"

"No, I'm serious, he's the story of a lifetime, Jake, and she got to know him..."

"Rich..."

"It's a reporter thing," he paused, looking up at the ceiling in a familiar gesture of hopelessness, "Do you _want_ her to leave me?"

"No, no, alright, alright."

There was a pause as Richard moved in his chair, tipping back to stare at the ceiling and kick his feet out onto his leather desk pad. He pictured Lois in his mind, drunk in the middle of the week and happy to have hired a babysitter so she could indulge herself again. He never saw her coming anymore.

"Who's Clark?"

"Clark Kent. Her _partner_ , the guy from Kansas."

"Oh, what about him?"

"I think he's in love with her," he might as well mention this, too.

"Ha! Is she in love with _him_?"

Richard laughed, the picture of Lois screaming her unyielding passion for goofy Clark Kent darkly amusing in his mind, "Um, no, it had never even occurred to me, how ridiculous."

"So what then? Does he give you shit over it?"

"No no, nothing like that, he's just…" and there it was, defining Clark as Clark, "He's nothing. She's just different since I met him; he left a weird impression on me, but he's the," Richard struggled with this word, " _silliest_ man I know."

Silence followed, the kind you hear after you've made a final point and need to reflect on it.

Jake sighed on the other end of the phone, "How's Jason?" A great attempt at changing the subject.

"Good, his birthday is coming up."

"Oh I know, I'm mailing my present tomorrow."

"Why thank you."

"But really?" Jake, for all his insensitive outlooks, _loved_ Jason.

"He's getting smarter everyday."

"Just like his dad? Ha! Goodbye, Rich, I'll talk to you Saturday."

* * *

"Hey Lois?" Richard tried to ask gently, wondering how easily this was going to go.

"Yes, Richard?" She was holding the bottle of tequila and looked ready to pour herself more, eyebrow raised.

"Home? Bed? I'm exhausted and you'll want your hangover vitamins."

Lois opened her mouth, ready to argue, as Perry and a recently (rudely) awoken Jimmy looked on.

In the instant before the spiteful words were sure to pour forth from Lois' open mouth, a long arm reached across the aisle and plucked the bottle from her hand. Lois looked around, drunkenly shocked beyond belief to see Clark smiling down at her and holding the bottle out of reach. He didn't say a word.

Richard, Jimmy, and Perry all tensed in sympathy for Clark as much as themselves as they waited for Lois to tear him apart. It was hard to wait.

She sighed and let her shoulders slump, "Fine, where's my purse?"

"At your feet," answered Clark.

"Yes, good. Um, to pick that up I'm going to have to fall over," she stared down at the two purse handles at her right foot, partway under her desk and really far too complicated to retrieve right now. Clark smiled and glanced down.

With a balance and coordinated effort beyond which any man with that many shots of top shelf tequila should have, he bent down on one foot (still dangling the bottle in his left hand) and rose to hand Lois her purse with the grace of a dancer. Lois did not notice this drunken feat in the midst of her abandon and snatched the purse off his hand.

"Goodbye everyone," she waved.

Perry stared as Richard's face twisted into a glare. He was looking directly at Clark and seemed irritated at the way Clark could just act without consequence.

'Fantastic. He's really is jealous of the wrong guy.' Perry was happy at least that someone finally appreciated Clark's exception-hood... one way or the other.

Perry looked back at Clark, who was watching Lois clear her desk, his hip leaning on the pillar near her and a small smile on his face, the audience forgotten in _his_ abandon. Clark always watched Lois, but only let it show very rarely.

Kyle and Maurice were both also watching Lois, which included watching Clark. They shared a significant glance and grinned. Perry looked back at Richard as Lois approached him on bare feet, swinging her heels like she always did when she was drunk.

"What about my hangover vitamins? Good idea, I'm not as crazy as I used to be..."

"G'night, Lois."

"Good night, Jimmy," she waved again on the way to the elevator.

Richard was still looking over his shoulder in Clark's direction. Perry's eyes shot over and saw that Clark was absorbed in the news monitor again. His ears caught mention of a summer forest fire. He looked back at Richard, his quick wit fast enough to appreciate the kind of important human moments that only take seconds.

Lois less pushed and more slammed against the elevator button, sliding down the wall a little and making Jimmy laugh.

"Shut up, Jimmy!" she called. He started to laugh outright. Kyle was smiling.

Perry saw Clark's head turn for a fraction of a second to glance her way before turning back to the news. He caught Richard's glare before the other man was forced to attend to a flailing Lois, and soon after Richard looked a little amused himself. You couldn't help laughing at Lois sometimes; her drunkeness was always fun.

The elevator was rising.

Clark started to move, at first only a few steps, his eyes still on the monitor, and then finally he was stalking towards his desk and quickly gathering his possessions. He moved incredibly fast for a drunk, love struck man.

"Where's the fire, Kent?" Just a turn-of-phrase.

"Missouri."

"I LOVE IT WHEN HE SAYS MISSOURI! HAHAHAHAHA!" and Lois slammed her hand against the elevator door and cackled, her head thrown back, the sound of laughter rising out of her like a jet of steam. Lois was known to _demand_ Clark say 'Missouri' at work parties and the kind of Friday afternoon lunches that lasted all day. She always mocked his accent, but thought this was especially funny.

Now Kyle, Jimmy, and Maurice were also laughing; it was hopeless, the indulgence around him. Clark slammed the bottle of tequila in the recycling, undeterred in his efforts to leave and obviously annoyed. Maurice was gasping for breath.

Clark moved towards the elevator, shrugging off his jacket as he approached the double glass doors that were kept open into the Bullpen. Perry realized in a flash that he was in no way inebriated and the editor sat forward off Jimmy's desk as Clark's profile came back into his line of vision. He was focused, more so than even his sober self was usually seen to be. He looked almost angry.

"How did you do that, Kent?" Perry wondered aloud, far too low for Clark to hear him from where he was by the stairs.

Clark shot, "Do what?" over his shoulder, and then turned to say, "Goodnight, Lois," -

And it happened. Right before slamming open the gray, steel door into the echo of the empty stairwell Clark finally answered Richard's glare, finally shot a cold, hard look straight at him over Lois' head while he wished her goodnight. With the force he applied to the door it was clear he also wished physical harm upon him, or at least much violent intent. And Richard flinched, shocked and taken aback, suddenly unsure in his childish resentment.

Jimmy flinched, and then Perry realized they were _all_ watching. All the laughter died in the same heartbeat, everyone had seen.

Perry stood motionless, the elevator DING!ed.

Lois waved at the stairwell door as it slammed back into place, her reflexes obviously impaired while she gathered herself up from her laughing fit. Everyone looked down at her after watching Richard's face. She sent an oblivious smile towards the stairwell and walked blindly into the elevator cabin, full of mirth.

"Good night, Clark!"


	15. Inherent Vice

**Warm air pushed against his face, anger lingered in his veins. He was somewhere, heading south-west, blind in the darkness, lost in the clouds, and seething with annoyance.**

**He could smell smoke everywhere.**

_Why_ do you insist on making me _so angry_?

**He kept his eyes on the dark horizon looking for an orange glow.**

What is it about me that you so dislike?

**The fire blossomed like a flower, red and hot in the distance, muted through the clouds.**

Do you suspect who I am or how I feel about Lois?

**Narrowed eyes started to look left and right, zooming in on different areas to get an idea of the landscape and flora to better assess the potential speed and heat of the fire.**

Did I offend you in some way?

**The charred remains of a small house came up under him; he listened closely for the sounds of humans in duress.**

Because you are _really_ starting to piss me off.

**The wind was coming out of the south-east, a small river that came up below him in the darkness seemed to hem the fire in this area, establishing a perimeter that he would not have to worry about unless the wind picked up speed.**

And you're making it very hard to keep from hating you...

You do, after all, have _everything_.

You share a life with Lois, you call my child 'son.'

You're an _editor_ at my paper.

And you live a normal life without secrets to keep or strength to control, no lives to save, no terrible decisions to make.

**Where was the base of operations for this fire? He looked around for lights, listened intently for the buzz of voices over hand-held radios.**

Yet you feel it necessary to prod at me with suspicious glances and sarcastic comments...

**His sonic hearing picked up the whine of low-wave radio and he turned automatically to its source, homing in like a machine.**

...you accuse me with almost every word.

**There were electric lights ahead, behind that ridge.**

You lack any comprehension of just _who_ you are dealing with.

You hate Clark, 'Bullpen Clark,' someone you can screw around with, someone you think you can intimidate.

Wait, Richard.

_Wait._

**Clark closed his eyes, letting the high-pitched scream in his ears echo around the darkness of his thoughts. He was too angry to see, he just wanted to think, to roll around in the misery that fed this anger. It felt so good to answer Richard's stare, to put a foot out of line against him, and in front of Lois... Lois.**

_Damn you, Richard._

You know _nothing_.

Nothing.

You have nothing to burden you.

Because you have everything I want.

**His fists were clenched at his sides, yearning to find something strong enough for him to properly tear apart.**

And so _this_ is the man who wants to claim my Lois.

This is the man who gets to sleep with my Lois.

**And something snapped inside his mind, somewhere a nerve fired without his permission, and suddenly his eyes flared bright with the heat of his anger-**

And in that moment he saw her, her outline burned against the inside of eyelids, the kind of random images that make a man squirm. She was naked and under him, nails ran down his arms, her voice filled his ears, before Richard's smug smile came to mind instead.

**-and two pinpoints of fire caused a single pine tree to spontaneously combust in what before was an untouched area of the forest.**

The earth shattered beneath him as he slammed down onto the planet. Six firefighters to the left and right of him actually fell over with the force of his miscalculated and enraged landing. People called out as a major explosion concussed the very air and seemingly set a random tree into hysterics, and everywhere men were looking up and around, frightened. The car alarm on one of the Special Unit SUVs went off, blaring into the night as a chorus of voices cursed in shock and arms went out to steady comrades.

Reality slammed into Clark and he realized how out of control he was. He couldn't remember how he got here and just barely registered the stream of consciousness he had just emerged from. It all happened so fast, chaos was erupting around him and he looked down at his hands, shaking in the flicking light of another forest fire in Missouri. His breath was coming in pants, Lois disappeared from his mind and he was left with nothing but his rage.

Burning rage.

"Superman?"

He looked up and took stock of the crater he was currently standing in, his feet buried up to his knees and the smell of freshly exposed earth wafting up from this new hole in the ground. One heavyset fireman was trying to scramble up the wall of the crater from where he had fallen and tumbled, the loose earth crumbling under his feet. Clark scanned all the soot-stained, sweaty faces and offered them the truth.

"I'm sorry, I miscalculated, I was distracted. I'm having a bad uh," he paused for such a long time that a quiet awkwardness filled the already bizarre exchange.

"I'm having a bad three months."

He waited, numb, until after another pregnant pause a set of identical grins spread across the faces around him. The white teeth were blaring in the smoky, grizzly atmosphere and Clark was reminded of the Cheshire Cat.

He shuddered and tried to force himself past it.

"I did not act on the fire until I was able to consult you," he said as he raised himself out of the crater, floating to a stop near the highest ranked firefighter.

"You are more aware of the priorities and may even want to retain some areas for controlled burn, um," Clark couldn't help it and looked up at the tree he had accidentally set on fire. It burned alone and really quite hilariously in the middle of the night, above their heads.

Clark was very embarrassed as he set a shot of cold air in its direction. He sighed and shrugged, still flabbergasted at his state of mind. The tree sizzled.

Another firefighter off to the left let out a sharp laugh and descended into chuckling. All of the smiles came back.

"Feel better now?" asked the high ranked officer, all business. Clark was reminded of his Little League manager and looked down at his boots.

"Um, yes."

"Then this is our situation, _someone get me a flashlight and both those maps_!"

* * *

The elevator doors closed, trapping Lois out of her life and back into reality. She sighed, her friends eclipsed, and now alone with Richard for the next _ten hours_. The space was warm and small, everywhere incandescent light reflected off brass and bronze.

'Christ, what am I doing?'

Lois leaned her arm against the wall of the elevator, sick at the motion of it. The last few shots had finally began to enter her bloodstream and what had been a very comfortable drunk was starting to turn into a mild nausea. She felt sick and exposed. A regrettable feeling.

They stood in silence.

"Lois?" She shivered at the sound of his voice, it was like the grinding of gears to her right now. All she could taste was tequila and some other taste, similar to the twinge that comes with licking aluminum foil.

"Richard. Yes. Where are we?" She hoped he wouldn't say 'the elevator,' she was more curious as to how many more floors until blessed stillness.

"Passing the 15th floor." That was... odd.

Lois realized she had been expecting annoyance, had been waiting for the exasperation to enter Richard's voice. It was an automatic behavior pattern. Instead he sounded... lost.

"Lois?" Again.

"Yes?" she cleared her throat and tried to sound sober and interested, so as not to start a fight and maybe even minutely curious as to this shift in attitude. She rested her head on the resting arm, trying to rest in a restful way. Uuuuuuuugh...

"You say this was a tradition?"

"Yup."

"Which you haven't done at least since I've known you."

"Yup."

"Why bring it back?"

There was a mysterious weight to this question. Lois frowned, not wanting to answer.

"Because."

Eventually the elevator bell sounded and the cabin came to a hydraulic stop, sending her off-balance. She looked up to see Richard regarding her, a guarded but interested look on his face. Her other hand came away from the flat, brass railing lining the three mahogany panels of the cabin and she shifted her purse back onto her shoulder, defiant in her drunkenness.

"Onward, Richard." She waved her hand.

He moved out of the cabin ahead of her and they began to walk. Richard looked bothered. Lois often commented that Richard should learn how to control his face. These thoughts were cut short by a wave of nausea. Lois paused, reaching out for one of the pillars nearest the elevator shaft and pressing her forehead against the cool concrete. Richard noticed and paused.

"Why is Clark Kent so special?"

She turned her head against the pillar, the sandy coarseness of the cement grinding into her skin, and looked at him in the dim light. She responded with a little too much honesty: "Shut up, Richard, I feel sick."

"Why should I shut up, Lois?" Wow, he got angry _fast,_ "What's so fucking special about Clark?"

"What? Nothing! That's what-"

"Then why do you listen to _him_?"

Despite expecting to be interrupted all over again, Lois tried to voice her confusion, "What do you mean 'list-"

"You won't listen to fucking _anybody_ but you'll listen to _Clark_ and you don't even realize that you're-!"

Lois interrupted in kind, the brief patience she had for this idiocy eclipsed by more nausea.

"-Richard, _I have no idea what you're talking about_! So please, just explain it to me tomorrow and accept that right now I just want to pass out."

She tried to concentrate on moving again; her arms and face were numb, her lips felt swollen and she had the sudden desire to kiss something. She pushed off the pillar with her head, waving off any half-hearted attempt from Richard to pretend to try and help her.

He was about to open his mouth to shout some useless, incendiary observation about her being too drunk to function when the thought was intersected by another:

'What would Clark do?' it asked. 'He would give in and smile,' it suggested.

So that's what he did. He smiled, shrugged, and waited patiently for Lois to get her bearings again.

They began to walk. They passed six cars by the time Lois spoke up:

"Clark isn't special. He's overly-normal, which is _obvious_ ," she glared at him. "He likes baseball. And fiction. Pickles, cheap suits, legal-ruled everything," she smiled annoyance fading as they walked slowly towards the car, her bare feet trying to avoid oil stains on the parking deck floor, her voice echoing through the space, "and swimming, believe it or not..." she trailed off, a smile in her voice.

Lois dropped a shoe and had to spin in a wobbly circle to retrieve it from the floor. She spoke as she knelt in the air, trying not to fall over while Richard looked back over his shoulder. He watched as a candid grin stole across her face, and she finished her thought-

They walked the rest of the way to the car in silence until they both stood next to their respective locked door.

"Why?" Her voice rang out hollow and sharp in the empty space, echoing around Richard. Her face was clear, no longer ponderous and back on key.

"I don't like him."

" _You don't like him_?" she mocked back at him, shifting on her feet and rolling her eyes at him, "Unlock the door!" she demanded suddenly.

Richard stared at her over the roof of the car; she could tell he had a finger poised on the Unlock button, holding her hostage.

She looked at him, impatient. "You should be happy I listened to him, now I won't vomit on your beautiful car. Now come on!"

* * *

Perry and the others had been left to gape as the elevator door clunked closed and the stairwell down banged shut, and then suddenly everything was a whole lot quieter in the Bullpen. Lois's laughter faded away, leaving only the low voices of the newscasters still discussing the fire in Missouri.

A few seconds passed before everyone started wondering whether or not they had seen what they thought they saw.

Perry thought he saw the normally passive Clark Kent go from drunk to sober in just the time it took him to glare menacingly at Richard over Lois' head. And Perry didn't know which was stranger: that Kent sobered up or that he was drunk to begin with.

"So wow. I've never seen Clark that angry," Kyle offered to the mostly empty room as he shifted in his seat and moved his mouse to wake up his computer.

Maurice nodded a few nods too many, decidedly drunk. The pair made motions to go back to their business, apparently satisfied with life and in no real way disturbed by the violent glare from a man sober enough to really mean it.

These two were best friends with fifteen years difference between them and they mimicked each other in almost everything. Kyle was a cynical but energetic 'gay man about town' who got to eat and write for a living; Maurice was the paper's most popular conservative writer and featured a Republican Party Forum in his weekly column. Maurice was the younger of the pair, Kyle was in the habit of borrowing pens and both of them played online poker _almost_ to the point of having a serious gambling problem.

At first Perry had felt bad that Richard was badgering Clark, but now he wondered if that was all there was to it. Perry glanced at Jimmy.

"Is there anything I should know, Olsen?" A sharp question.

"Um, what?" Jimmy was the picture of fake ignorance from where was checking his e-mail on Lois' computer and probably contemplating calling a taxi.

"Just answer the question!" he barked impatiently.

"No, I don't think so," Jimmy's voice immediately matched the tone of the question, a serious response without pretense. He cleared his throat, looking nervous and young. Whatever flimsy defenses the young photographer managed to put up in a normal mind-frame were utterly transparent when intoxicated. He looked left and right, probably missing the firewall that was Lois Lane.

Perry sighed. Clark Kent had been worshiping Lois for eight years, probably even lighting candles for her at Buddhist shrines in Thailand, but in all that time Perry never thought he was going to have to intervene. But with Richard's paranoia now capable of making Kent, of all people, actually pissed off, the editor found himself in a difficult place. He cared about these idiots. But he was their boss.

His captive audience was staring at him, waiting for him to say something more. He was just standing there, staring at the elevator like a horrific crime had just been committed.

Maurice propped his elbow onto his desk and then plopped his head onto his hand, pouting. "Richard started it. Clark was only responding and he was obviously upset; doesn't his whole family live in Missouri?"

(Jimmy tried to interject, "Clark only has his mother and he's from Kansas.")

"Anyway he's _your_ nephew, ask him."

Perry frowned. Kyle was still looking on expectantly, but bleary-eyed, and Perry took a moment to breathe and look around.

The dim lights of the desk lamps were reflecting against the windows, shielding the city from view. Perry often felt that he was both the editor of a major international newspaper and the local print boy at the same time, especially when weird lighting made this office look like some old-fashioned local paper, trapped in time. Perry took a moment to look at the panoramic reflection. With his imagination in place he could glance over the computer monitors on every desk, could replace keyboards with typewriters, and could see himself in this world always.

He sighed. Maybe this did all boil down to jealousy. Jealousy over Lois Lane. Richard resented Clark for the way she had changed, Clark resented Richard over his age-old crush.

Silence reigned. But in the end, Perry didn't say anything. He didn't express his concerns because it was a bit too personal a thing. Perry was concerned as an Uncle and a Great Uncle both; this was his family, and discussing this with his staff was not appropriate.

He cleared his throat. "Does everyone have a ride?"

They all nodded.

"They get out of here! And be on time tomorrow!"

They all nodded.

Perry took a deep breath, turned around, and retreated to his office.

No one said a word while they each stood in turn, stretching, almost falling over, and then groaning as they dragged their feet towards the elevator.

As Jimmy went to roll his chair back over to his computer he turned and accidentally swept Lois' legal pad off her desk and onto the floor. His hand braced against his chair as he stooped to pick up the pad, he and went on to read it after he came upright, slightly dizzy and very heavy feeling. It was the list of drinking terms, most of them written in pen and a few in pencil, and Jimmy gave a small smile as he turned to flick it back onto her desk.

But he paused and turned the text back towards himself. Most of the terms were spelled wrong (save relatively simple words like 'United Nations' or 'White House') but only one had tally marks next to it. Jimmy looked up, glancing first at the editor's office and second at his comrades gathered by the elevator before looking back down.

'Superman' was apparently mentioned five times on the news tonight, and that was only in the short span that they had been paying attention. Jimmy stared down at the marks, thinking very hard about only the obvious, and sighed. He was really worried about Lois, and he placed the pad down gently as if showing compassion to an office product would take up all the slack in her world.

"We're not holding this forever, Jimmy, come on. Kyle's practically dead and I _do not_ want to clean up after him again."

Jimmy sighed, moving to get his jacket and clicking off his desk lamp.

* * *

"Hey Jason?" she cleared her throat and moved into the room a little further..."Heeeey Jaaay-son?"

All was quiet on the little boy front and Lois couldn't help but think that this felt like a dream. Warm summer air was battling it out with the central air conditioner (Jason needed fresh air for his asthma, but cool air for his usually high body temperature) at the same time that both a humidifier and a dehumidifier were on call to maintain relative humidity (for the asthma _and_ the allergies) and at the same time still that a HEPA filtering machine ran in the corner (for just the allergies). It sounded like the server room at the _Planet_ in here and Lois knew Jason would probably want to sleep with white noise for the rest of his life.

Lois called his name again, bending down and dizzy.

She had told Richard she would be right back, knowing full well he would fall asleep without missing her and probably wake up in a few hours, shifting around so much that he would wake her. Then she would lie awake, he would fall back asleep, and she would get up to take a walk all over ag-

Suddenly she spotted a little blue eye glinting at her from the direction of Jason's pillow and she sighed at the significance, but waved at him in the darkness none-the-less. She knew, despite the heavy atmosphere all around them, that he could see her as clear as day. She squinted towards the mattress and moved closer.

"Mommy?"

"Hey Jase," she whispered even lower than the average whisper as she came and knelt by the bed, ruffling his unruly hair and looking down at her son with a goofy smile, "Mommy can't sleep."

"Really?"

"Nope."

"Did you have a bad dream?"

"Yeah, something like that. Mommy doesn't feel well and knows she's going to have a really bad headache at the staff meeting tomorrow."

"Take some assprin."

"As-pir-in."

"Aspirin.."

"I did. Do you think I could stay in here with you a little while?"

"Okay."

Lois smiled and ruffled his hair in the darkness, "Thanks, buddy."

It took about five seconds before their whispers were a dream fading fast in the memory of a five year old. Lois was still kneeling and moved closer to tuck Jason's head under her chin, bringing her face to rest on his pillow. She was thankful that he was so gentle and easy in spirit; here was the peace she was looking for in her misery.

Lois' toes rubbed mindlessly against the carpet under her bare feet as she let the hum of the room overtake her senses. Everything in here was at once so quiet and so noisy, but she was thankful that Richard probably couldn't hear the low murmur of conversation that she knew was probably going on more often than she realized in this room. She knew He came to see Jason and so she had purposefully jammed the latch on the screen so that Superman could come and go without raising too much suspicion.

Lois put her cheek against Jason's hair and thought. This was the child of the most singular thing on Earth, and in her wildest moments she likened her gap in memory to some notion of an immaculate conception. She could think back on her pregnancy as if she was standing guard over a precious treasure, keeping it for the man who left it in her care.

Their son. A three and a half month old idea.

Lois ran her fingers through his messy hair and smiled, thinking that if she could never see _His_ hair wild around his face then at least she could keep his son's as crazy as she wanted. Lois grinned to herself, playing little jokes in her motherhood with the halo of affection circling her head. But as often happens in the doldrums of intoxication, Lois' happy thoughts could only last so long.

She began to think sadly of the young man soon to follow in the wake of her little boy; a creature that would start to recognize how to resent her, how to question his parents, break her heart, make her worry, grow up and away...

Jason blew some air out his lips in a little 'putt' sound. Tears rushed to her eyes.

Her little boy. A true love child, the only evidence of finally having the man she had always wanted.

'Maybe...' thought Lois desperately as the tears did start to threaten to spill. Lois closed her eyes, determined. She could, in her worst moments, still master her tears.

'Maybe he'll be like his father,' Lois took a deep breath, trying to calm down and stop the room spinning in the blackness, 'Polite and devoted to me forever,' she laughed at herself, hating herself in her weakness.

But here in her arms was her little creature, her little secret, and she glowed in the light of motherhood, that goofy smile coming back across her face as she went quickly from one mood and into another.

The warm thoughts lingered and her nervous toes stilled as thoughts of his father played with the edges of her mind, the shy smile and the fair mind, kind and courageous. Not everyone grew up to be like her... what was He like as a boy? Her mind's eye smiled with the thought, drifting asleep without knowing it and sagging against the bed.

Was he shy and funny like he was now? Or maybe reclusive and dark, like she knew he could be in his worst moments? Was he playful, like Jason, yet still wise beyond his years? Or was he lonely, like her, cut off? She tried to see him in her mind, tried to strip away the years...

* * *

"Shhh, Lois, I've got you..."

"What?" she moaned, waking into nausea, the alcohol churning dangerously within her as she lay limp in someone's arms. She felt no movement, but there was a draft on her face.

There was heat pressed against the side of her body, there was smoke in the air, she could smell tequila all over again and fought back the disgust.

"You're levitating me," awareness started rushing forward, but everything was dark. Lois moved, sliding a now curious hand across a chest that was roughly twice the width of her and she tried to clear her throat. Her fingertips found the raised ridges of his shield and she smiled, "Mmmm, hello."

"Shhh..." he repeated, whispering somewhere above her, "I'll put you on the couch."

'He'll ignore my hands until the day he dies,' she thought, fighting off the sickness. He stooped to deposit her a moment later and she lost the argument.

"Oooooh god please get me a glass of water. Shit," she moaned into the couch, rolling at his insistent hands (so she wouldn't fall off) and she listened to him move towards the kitchen. With her face pressed against the soft microfiber of the upholstery she remembered how much she loved these cushions. Sickness was swirling in her; she lost her bearings again, but managed to remember that he couldn't x-ray glass very well.

"Above the dishwasher..." she gasped into the couch, far too quietly for an ordinary human to hear, and so sick that she wanted to die.

Water ran in the sink and she didn't care whether he saw the facet filter or not, she just wanted something, anything, to take away the helplessness in her stomach.

His voice came back, startling her, "There's a reason you stopped drinking tequila, Lois."

He was _scolding_ her?

"What? Shut up," Lois tried to insert some bite into the words, tried to get back on track as she twisted to try and face him.

"Oh... oh god..." a fresh wave of queasiness hit her and now it was too much. Too much... she moaned in pain, her breath coming in short pants as she reached out for the water. She was still resting unwisely on one hand. She heard the glass hit the table and her eyes started to adjust to the dim light.

"Wait, no, you'll be sick if you drink now, hold on."

Two hands came around her, the first around her shoulders and coming behind the space under her back, the other cradling the base of her skull.

"Relax..."

She knew he meant it, so she let herself fall limp against his hands. He managed the slow descent back into the cushions for her and came to kneel by her side on the floor. Superman took his arm out from under her slowly and carefully, and Lois looked up at his shadow when his hand lingered under her hair.

"Help," she moaned again, a whole new set of emotions at his gentle touch and quiet presence battling the sickness for dominance.

He moved his head in the darkness, suddenly concerned for her, thinking that perhaps she was in worse condition than he thought.

And then a new thought, but one that seemed to merge with the cry for help:

"Jason, he..." she paused, unsure what to say. His hand came out from under her head and in her helplessness and worry she thought she saw disgust across his face. The shadows played tricks, a thousand paranoid thoughts ran across her mind. He doesn't want to hear this! He doesn't want this!

The breath stopped in her lungs, shame ran hot through her body, she tried to move but couldn't, frustration tore at her and she squirmed like a child uncomfortable in its bed.

The hand came back second later, smoothing wet fingers into the hair by her temple. He had only twisted around to dip his fingers in her water, had only moved away for a second before he was back and caring for her. A chilled breath came across her face, and Lois sighed into the soft touch of a man whose hands never calloused.

"Lois?" A whisper.

While he could definitely see her in this darkness, his ability to _read_ her at this moment was probably limited.

"I'm okay, I'm okay, ugh, the frigging room is spinning..." she reached out a hand, waving it around and suggesting that she needed someone to hold on to. Her nails scraped along his forearm as he tried to guide her hand into his. She felt the moisture from the water there, the smooth and flawless skin that had crushed rock, ripped metal, and been slicked with so much blood. His were hands that were as untouched and soft as those areas of the body always shielded from the friction of everyday life, yet they had done more than generations of working people.

"Please tell me what's wrong so I don't panic," he spoke in what was obviously a strained voice.

"I just meant," she sighed, "Jason told me over the weekend that... he's can zoom in on things. He can look at a boat in the distance or read a cereal box from across the house."

Lois paused, a wave of nausea just at the edges of her eyes.

She continued in a rasp of a voice, trying to stay still, focusing on speaking to help distract her. "It's not a big deal, I mean it's not setting shit on fire, but I'm afraid! Because it's something he does all the time, which he's always done. It's part of his life. It just seems so real now."

She hadn't meant to talk about this, but it was coming out no matter what.

"Just like you're listening to me without needing to move closer, it's part of you. I'm just clueless on how to handle this!" Her hand was holding his, hoping that she didn't sound whiny and desperate. She didn't want to scare him.

"Does he get very many headaches?"

"What?" she understood it perfectly, she just wasn't expecting a question to follow her statement.

"His eyes seem to be the first tissue really affected, and I'm wondering if he feels any pain behind his eyes. It was the first pain I felt."

"What do you mean, _the first pain?_ " She looked up into his shadowed face, trying to see him. The sting of stale smoke was lingering around him; she imagined the shadows across his face as soot, settling into the hollows of his cheekbones, across his brow. He was gorgeous.

And haunted.

"Coming into my powers was very uncomfortable at times. My joints ached when I got stronger, my eyes stung when I could see farther, I was dizzy for all the time I was learning how to fly, my lungs ached with cold... I cannot feel external pain, but my body still aches on the inside. I get _stress headaches_..." he said the last bit as if indicating he had one at the moment, and Lois smiled in empathy.

She loved it when he spoke to her like this, and it made a familiar yearning rise in her. Here it was again, the _missing_ him, her friend... a man full of confessions, secrets, stories and extraordinary experience. She yearned for that tone in his voice, remembered what it was like to be hypnotized by it, obsessed with it. Echoes of interviews had nothing on this moment, of looking up at a man now speaking for their son...

"Superman..." it was a whisper that interrupted his thought, that made him pause and regard her. A small pressure engulfed her hand. She moaned, "I don't feel well..."

"Shhhh, Lois, I know. Here," his hand came away from hers once more and returned a moment later, combing more water into her hairline with his fingers. It lingered there, cool and calming, as he spoke softly, "I'll be right back with another glass, just stay still."

Reality was getting blurry, the solid forms surrounding her in her own living room were now only shades of gray in a dark room, transparent in her mind. He came back, she more sensed it than heard it, and he helped her sit up for a few blessed sips of icy (filtered) tap water. The cold traced a path down her throat and into her body, a feeling that reminded her of being three-dimensional.

She laid back down, sick and dizzy. Vertigo surrounded her.

"Don't worry about Jason, we'll talk soon..."

"Tomorrow...?" her voice cracked.

"Tomorrow," he whispered back.

Strong hands rubbed circles across her back as, face pressed into the couch, Lois prayed for sleep to save her from the agony of three shots too many. It was somewhere between layers of consciousness that Lois felt time pass and dreams move across her eyes, and long after she was sure he must be gone Lois surfaced in the quiet. She reached out into the darkness, selfishly indulging in unfulfilled desire, whispering for him into an empty room and prepared to suffer the cold rejection of Nothingness when...

"Shhh... sleep..." that same warm hand unexpectedly met her fingers in the darkness, guiding her hand back to her side and the only evidence that the disembodied voice in her ears wasn't a hallucination.

He was still watching her, guarding her, sitting with her...

Lois did not (and frankly could not) move any other muscle group than the small number that controlled her hand, but she was sure to meet his touch as he placed her arm back where it belonged. A contented sigh left her lips in acknowledgment just as the tips of her fingers slid lovingly across the sensitive palm of his hand as he pulled it back. For one harmonious moment his gesture matched hers, and the last thing Lois felt before slipping into oblivion was the gentle feeling of sliding your fingers against someone else's. Their fingertips touched, the highly receptive nerves there inflamed with the sensation, with the _feeling_...

... until a second later, when Lois fell into the pitch.


	16. Handshakes

"So," Perry closed the door behind the young man's back and gestured to the chairs in front of his ornate desk, inviting him to sit down, "Have a seat."

The two stepped around each other as they moved away from the door; Perry went over to his desk while the stranger moved towards the chairs. The upholstery was muted in the dim light while the dark wood looked warm and sophisticated. Still, the large chairs were meant to be intimidating in the mindgame of authority. At this point in his career he had just redecorated his office for the fifth time: now it resembled an exhibit (Early 20th Century Editor) and he liked it that way.

Perry would remember this day as a perfect example of springtime in the city: people had started walking their dogs in the parks again instead of on the icy sidewalks, the scents of the gutters were starting to fester again, and heavy coats were shed by noon. Perry liked this time of year, it reminded him of religion, and _that_ was interesting. It was 10 in the morning on a Wednesday that felt like a Friday, the sun was bright on a clear and (more significantly) smog-free day, and everyone was suddenly using French vanilla creamer in their coffee because Ned forgot to buy milk. The paper was taking a deep breath from the recent political scandal that had kept them all busy over the last three weeks and Perry's instincts were restless.

His eyes rolled over the awkward posture on the man trying to pull the chair gently out from its place, coming to a million conclusions and forming that inevitable and unforgettable 'First Impression.'

Perry did not sit down.

The younger man looked nervous and uncomfortable and he had the quick thought that he was squirming in unfamiliar clothes. He seemed to exude helplessness, and for a _first_ impression it was relatively accurate. Perry picked up the resumé, which was the only sheet of paper on the desk mat, and read the heading.

"Let's see, _Clark Kent_ , hailing from Smallville, Kansas, and," he flipped to the next page, glancing towards the middle of the text, "graduated Vassar. Hmph. Can't say I know anyone from Vassar," he slammed the paper down, as difficult a task that was with something so light.

"My name is Perry White, and I am the editor-in-chief of _The Daily Planet,_ graduated Harvard," he said it with pride, importance, and authority, "Every-once-in-awhile I get bored with my job and I hire someone. Do you think it's your lucky day?" Perry crossed his arms, being sure to embellish his image as much as he could. If the young man knew anything about this world, he knew _exactly_ who he was talking to.

Frightening a person is a good way to get to know them.

"I don't believe in luck."

"What's your angle?" he shot back. Interviews in this world should run like cross-examinations.

"The entire concept is subjective and inherently susceptible to interpretation. Luck is a fiction of the human imagination." Clark looked immediately regretful of his candid opinion of a harmless subject.

The editor had stopped pacing in front of his drawn blinds and turned to glance around at this philosophical rambling. Clark looked up at him, trying to hide behind his glasses and obviously shy in his forthrightness.

This observation put Perry off-balance, and against his better judgment the shy idiot before him with the huge glasses and the knowing stare had his attention. He moved to stand over the desk.

"I've seen a million like you, right out of college, assuring me that they deserve my every ounce of respect because they're _educated_ when all they really are is _cocky_. "

He paused half a beat for emphasis.

"I'll tell you what, the _last_ thing I need is another Lois."

And as if in the cosmos were interested in dramatic punctuation, _Lois Lane_ took that exact moment to slam her palm up against the glass of the editor's office and yell, "CHIEF!"

Clark jumped in his seat, startled, and Lois wrenched open the door in the next instant. She stalked directly to the desk and faced Perry right in the eye.

" _What_ is this?" she brandished a handful of papers in his face.

" _That_ is your next assignment! And not now, damnit! OUT!" he yelled back.

Snickers from the Bullpen were audible through the fast closing door and remained inside Clark's ears after the soft _swoosh_ of the felt lining the door swept back into place. Unable to control his senses in the new city, Clark blinked as Perry's voice echoed painfully in his mind.

"I'm not covering some fucking theater thing, do you _realize_ what you're interrupting?"

"OUT!"

Clark winced again and shifted in his chair. Like a cat picking up a noise, Lois' head snapped around to regard the New Thing. Her eyes raked his prone form as something like Rapture rippled through Clark.

She was _gorgeous_.

My god, who was this woman?

"What is _this_?"

" _That_ is my interview process -GET OUT OR YOU'RE FIRED! MONTY, CAGE THIS WOMAN! I swear I'll give you to Monty if you don't-"

"Fine," she tossed over her shoulder on her way out, reoriented towards the door almost instantly and walking away as if she wasn't just fighting with the rage of a thousand volcanoes. The collection of papers came up into the crook of her arm and Lois yanked open the door with purpose. Clark lamented that she should leave so soon, but was grateful for the fact that he didn't have to engage her. His eyes just would not listen to his brain, however, and followed her with the same naked expression on his face.

Just as she was about to be eclipsed by the door frame Clark saw her eyes snap back to him, giving him a different kind of a look, a _curious_ look. The door swept shut behind her and Clark felt his heart pounding in his chest. She was terrifying!

He turned slowly to look at the editor and cautious of the man's heightened temper, in this, his _dream job_ interview.

"Um, Lois Lane?"

"Lois Lane. Who _also_ walked into my office demanding I recognize her unique godliness. I sent her down to the basement for 18 months. Because I run a _base_ , not a newspaper; _I'm_ the General, you're the Private."

So Clark did something wholly unexpected, and rose to his feet as if coming to Attention. The perspective in the room shifted suddenly as the tall mast that was Mr. Kent towered above Perry's stout frame. The older man had to look up to meet his gaze, but recognized the gesture of respect.

"I merely meant, Mr. White, that that we can never really know one way or the other. So, rather than trusting my talent on my word, why not give it up to chance?" he tried to sound confident about it.

Perry shifted on his feet, interested despite himself. Was this a _bet_?

Clark took that to mean he was indeed willing to listen and continued, "Let's say you hire me for _one day_. Today. On the notion that tomorrow you'll be happy you have another reporter. Maybe a bomb will drop or a government will collapse."

"You're betting on _the news_?"

"As a true journalist should, yes."

"And that means you believe you are a _true journalist_?" he asked this with suspicion.

Clark surprised him again with a blush and a shy shrug. Suddenly this quarterback looked like a child, caught in a scheme. Perry couldn't believe this guy. He picked up the resumé again and scanned it...

_Graduated Salutatorian in high school... member of various social organizations including the BSA, 4-H Club, and the Free and Accepted Masons..._

Perry looked up, intrigued. He knew a few Masons, but none so young...

_... Graduated with Honors with a BA in History and Journalism from Vassar, four years on the school's paper, three honor societies, one published paper in an undergraduate Humanities journal... one year of grad school..._

"Didn't like grad school?"

"I didn't like myself. Did some soul-searching instead, learned who I am."

"Oh really? When did that stop?"

"When I got invited to this interview," he paused. "Yesterday," he added plainly and without a bit of humor, although it probably was funny.

"And what did your soul-searching consist of, if you don't mind me asking?"

"I hiked across the country."

Perry waited to see if he would say anything more. But finally his curiosity got the better of him, because there was something about the way he'd said it:

"You mean the entire country. You hiked across the United States."

"Yes."

And Perry believed him.

"Huh."

He looked back down at the paper, pretending to scan the accomplishments a little further while his mind turned. This boy had _spunk_. And so in the next instant Perry White made yet another of the risky decisions that he never regretted, another of the kind of serendipitous moments that helped write his legacy in the newspaper business:

He came around the desk with his hand out-stretched, all business, and growled, " _You're on_."

Clark shook it firmly, unable to hide a smile.

"Payroll will hold a check for one day's pay. In case you should be lucky, it will be delivered to you weekly on Thursday after 5. In case _I_ should be lucky it'll wait for you to pick it up for one week. Go to the 15th floor, see Blueberry Pie Marge (not _Marge_ Marge) and ask for an I-9. Fill that out, bring it to the 21st floor, give it to Tom, come back here and pull up a garbage can. I'll have an intern find you a small story. OUT!"

Clark jumped and hurried out of the office, forgetting his briefcase and kicking the doorframe.

Perry sighed and turned around, shaking his head and falling into his chair. He reached over, picked up the phone, and dialed three numbers.

"Kathy, send the next one."

Perry White was no fool, and when the next day dawned and Clark Kent walked back into the Bullpen with a satisfied smile on his face it meant a lot more than the fact that he had a job. _In fact_ , Perry knew that Clark might have been the only person on Earth who seemed to know that Superman was coming. _That_ was something. And not only did he anticipate it, he used that knowledge to hedge a bet against Perry and _win_ a job Upstairs.

Perry still grinned about it every time it crossed his mind.

* * *

The Bullpen was loud and confusing and contained the most people Clark had ever seen work in the same place. There were twice as many desks as this room was meant to hold, aisles were crooked paths of wastepaper baskets and legs sticking out at odd angles and everything was stacked in messy piles. There weren't as many things as scents, and this was confusing. It was overwhelming and complicated, and his senses were so barraged with voices, sounds and smells that all his thoughts were only half-completed before he had to think of another thing to think.

"See that? She's why women shouldn't tuck their shirts in," a 30-something woman who tied her bun with a pen gestured to the news monitor above her desk, her arms were covered in notes and she was barefoot, "Tommy where's my proof, come on!"

"You've got 800 words and I told you 600 words, THIS is why you're getting fired," a man spoke very quickly.

"I'm not getting fired," another man sighed, "I don't work here, Ryan."

Coffee steamed from next to every monitor, at least twenty perfumes and fifteen colognes were in his nostrils, and everyone was yelling into a phone or at a computer or with someone else and there was so much to listen and comprehend that without learning how to ignore it, Clark feared he might go mad.

"I give it fifteen minutes."

"No way."

"Yes, fifteen minutes now leave me alone and go away."

"Twenty dollars?"

"YES! Leave!"

"What did he say to that?"

"He said, 'fine, get out and take your cat with you.'"

"Aw Laura, you know he'll come around."

"Oh I _know_ he will, I have his laptop. I FedEx-ed him the Scroll Lock key yesterday. I figured it doesn't really ruin the computer."

"I've got 134,763."

"I've got 278,213."

"Give me that fucking calculator, you must be stoned or something. Come on, I needed to give this to Circulation _yesterday_."

"Does anyone remember where the- HEY! LISTEN! Does anyone remember where the-"

"NO! YOU LISTEN!"

"Oh shut up Kyle, come on, does anyone remember-"

"Who keeps printing on the fucking copier STOP IT! I've been trying to fax something for fifteen minutes and one of you assholes WON'T STOP PRINTING!"

Clark looked on, horrified, as papers flew into the air by the copy machine, "I don't care how many things it does, I say offices should have different machines for different tasks, _damnit_. And the next person who hits Print gets a magnet on his hard drive!"

The sound of ringing phones followed in the silence left by Lois Lane's explosion. Somehow, despite the noise, Lois managed to redefine 'shouting.' Clark saw two men who managed to look both amused and concerned start to exchange money. Clark realized that she had apparently surprised even them, the two co-workers plotting her destruction. He thought about this when suddenly-

"Hey Mister!"

Clark tried to determine if that was coming from nearby or across the room... people were turning back to their business.

"Mister uh," Clark turned around to see what appeared to be a teen-aged boy holding up his briefcase and squinting at the little brass plate on the broad side, "...CK. Heh," he gave an awkward laugh and looked up at Clark.

"Mister CK?"

Oh, he was older than he looked. But still younger than expected in this-

"Chief told me to give you this, and tell you to stop wandering around like a bleeping lost puppy and find Lois."

-environment. Clark reminded himself to speed it up a little. His brain tried to wrap its mind around approaching that beautiful whirlwind as he took his briefcase.

"Hi, I'm Cl-"

"Jimmy! HA!" Lois came out of left-field and swatted the young man on the arm, "Where the fuck have you been, it's been a week, I need my pictures and _you_ owe me twenty dollars."

"Um..."

Clark looked on, frozen, since this time he would certainly have to say something. Lois was wearing a long brown skirt that flared at the bottom, her blouse was pale and drifted off her shoulders in disorganized chaos and he couldn't help noticing how beautiful curves looked under waves. There were bits of paper in her short brown hair, the little circles from a hole puncher, and she looked like she was engaged in mortal combat with Time itself. He couldn't believe how brazen and really quite inappropriate she was, or how much he seemed to love it. It fascinated him. He knew within these few minutes that he had never met another woman like her.

"And _what_ is with the bow ties? I've known you six months and it's still with the bow ties. How many do you _have_?"

Jimmy's hand came to the tie around his throat, and he looked down shyly. Clark noticed the strap around his shoulders, evidence of a photographer. He looked familiar somehow, and Clark looked around for anyone even remotely this young. He must be 18 or 19...

"My mom gives them to me. She likes it when I wear them and I kinda got used to it. She gives me a few every Christmas."

Lois gave a small laugh, the kind of mocking subtly Clark would learn she was famous for. She grinned and went on to ask about her photographs.

Clark took this moment to run a finger under his own tie, bringing the fabric up across his hand and looking down at it fondly. His mom gave him his ties, too. Jimmy looked up and met Clark's eyes, giving him an embarrassed smile. Clark smiled back, waving the end of his tie at him and indicating they shared that legacy. Jimmy grinned.

This silent exchange between new friends was noticed, and Lois snapped her eyes around to regard Clark waving his tie.

"You again. What's your story?"

"I, um, don't have a story, that's what I was-"

"No, _who are you_?" she said it slowly, and he got to look into her face for the first time. He saw raw spirit in her eyes, the kind of determination that could lead to madness, like Van Gogh in his self-portrait-

"Helloo?"

Oh, right, speed up, "Clark Kent," he put his hand out. Lois shifted, giving him an eye.

He honestly didn't expect her to shake it, but a small hand came out and gripped his with purposeful strength, "Lois Lane, _Metro_. Welcome to paradise."

She swept her other arm out across the collection of cursing, screaming, frustrated and caffeinated people.

"Here's a story," and she slapped the sheaf of paper that was the aforementioned Theater Story into his chest and walked away in the next beat. She was there, and now she was gone. That was it. He watched her go.

Jimmy watched her turn away, and after catching Clark's eye again stuck out his small hand, "Jimmy Olsen! Photographer-on-call, _Daily Planet_ , at your service!" He looked like saying the statement was worth everything to him.

Clark reached out, pressing the now battered story awkwardly against his chest with his other hand gripping the briefcase while he tried to shake Jimmy's hand.

"Clark Kent. I'm here for uh, the day. Maybe. Um, do you know where I could sit down?"

"Sure! Follow me!"

* * *

"Oh my god please please please please holy shit, oh! Shit shit shit!"

Hands were clawing at his chest and arms, legs were kicking loosely against his and Clark couldn't believe his luck! For there, squirming in his arms, Lois Lane was making her third first impression on him that day. This time, she was the definition of a panicking woman and Clark could not believe his disguise was going to be tested so soon. He just got started for goodness sake! Life really _did_ move that fast in the city...

He turned to sweep his arm under her legs, pulling her up and against him like a child. The swift shift in posture made Lois finally look up into his face, her legs sticking up at a weird angle,

"Calm down, you're not falling." How ridiculous. Clark immediately realized he was going to have to work on his bedside manner.

"Who the fuck are you and ah, okay, okay," he felt her body expand and contract with heaving breaths, felt the soft tissue under his grip trying to come to terms with reality through the floods of adrenaline and instinct that was coursing through her. He looked left and debated flying her back to the _Daily Planet_ building, but decided he might be better off lowering her straight to the street. He shouldn't indicate that he knew where she was most likely to head next.

The pencil Lois had been holding was digging into his bicep under her hand and she shifted, trying to get the crook of her knee over his arm and scooting her bottom up so that she didn't feel like she was slipping through a crack.

"We're floating, why are we floating, I thought you were dangling from that crane what... what..." her faculties were definitely returning, he watched intelligence click behind her eyes and she opened her mouth to ask a thousand questions. The hand braced against his shoulder was white-knuckled and terrified still.

"We're floating because I can float. I'm an alien and this is one of my powers on your planet..." Might as well just try the truth, right? He almost laughed at how it sounded.

She stared at him, nonplussed. He could tell she was about three seconds from laughing in his face, but observation was really putting a damper on the fun. She took a deep breath, opened her mouth to say something, and closed it again. She came to a new thought:

"Is this a prank?"

He cleared his throat, "If it is, it's very well-timed," they were spiraling down towards the sound of cars and horns, the murmur of conversation, the noise of the subway. She sat up in his arms, trying to look at his face.

"Prove it."

Somehow Clark didn't think this would be the typical reaction to this kind of situation. She was, for all her sharp words, quite the student.

"Hold up your pencil."

Lois looked startled, and only then sensed a pressure against her hand. She slowly moved her arm, testing her stability in his grasp, and looked down at the pencil like she'd never seen it before. There was a ridged mark embedded across the palm of her hand, evidence of the terror that had gripped her mere seconds ago. She held up the pencil between them so that they could both see it clearly. Her expression was still suspicious, but the circumstances really left no other course of action.

"No, the other end," he tried not to smile at her impatient look. He was slowing down without really meaning to, trying to make this encounter last as long as possible. This was the first time he had ever spoken to someone without trying to hide, it was the first interaction as this new man, and he knew this was going to break his story wide open. Oh, and he had one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen in his arms. Her hair was billowing gently in the breeze and Clark watched, full of mourning, as the little hole punches finally succumbed.

Lois flipped the pencil between her fingers and gave an amused look, as if to say, 'Okay, hotshot.'

Clark concentrated on the graphite tip. Lois didn't notice anything until the first tiny wisp was blown away in the wind, and just as she was about to comment, the tip of the pencil combusted into a tiny flame.

"No...," she half-whispered, and stared at the flickering fire as it struggled in the wind. It was a good thing he'd slowed down after all. A million possibilities flirted with her mind, a million ways he could pull all these tricks off, but when it came down to it they were suspended (and moving!) in mid-air and she knew his hands had not moved.

Interestingly enough, she didn't panic despite the fact that he definitely possessed some ability to harm her, whether by dropping her or setting her on fire. He seemed too genuine to be dangerous.

"Now watch..." Clark blew softly towards the pencil, and kept on long after the pathetic flame had been extinguished. Lois watched, enthralled, while a white frost enveloped the tip of the charred stylus. She touched the tip to her lip to _feel_ that it was cold just as Clark's boots made contact with the sidewalk, yet she never took her eyes off his face. With the care of a true gentleman he slowly lowered her legs to the street, bending a little to help her get her footing. Lois glanced left and right, taking stock of the many people on the sidewalks and in cars, none of whom seemed to spot anything out of the ordinary.

Clark looked around, too, suddenly terrified and naked in this new suit, in this new city, in this new persona. He looked down at Lois, now pinching the cold pencil between two fingers. Her eyes came around to him, rolling over his body like they had in Mr. White's office and lingering on the shield right in the center of his chest.

Life went on around them, people brushed past them where they stood rudely in the middle of the sidewalk and Clark winced once again from the constant din of this steel-on-steel world. He waited, unsure why, intimately aware that they had just descended from heaven and no one had noticed.

"I still don't believe you. You look like a man," she gestured to his body in all its skin-tight glory, but ended up just bringing attention back to the pencil still clutched between the fingers of her active hand. She waved it between them, "Just a _super_ -man."

"I _am_ telling you the truth, and despite the fact that I'm not gray and slimy I do stand before you an extraterrestrial."

"Yet I've never heard of you."

"It's my first day."

Lois' left eyebrow rose in the sexiest way Clark had ever seen and he watched her mouth twitch. He'd almost made her smile, which Clark would later come to see as just the same as the real thing when it came to Lois. She stared straight at him with her keen and confident eyes, "Oh really? Well then that makes you my story, no matter _what_ the story is. Because you're a liar with good tricks and I'm interested in exposing both, before you hurt somebody or kill yourself. But of course you _obviously_ think you're here on a mission, too, why does this city always attract the crazies?"

Clark was sent off-balance by this observation, they were still standing in the middle of the sidewalk and talking over the traffic; he suddenly wondered if she could hear him properly because he never could communicate in loud pla-

Wait, what?

"Why do you say that?"

"Because you're wearing a fucking shield and an outfit, like some kind of crusader. _Please._ Give me a new one, okay? There are no _aliens_ , and if there were they wouldn't look exactly like us. That shit does not happen, this isn't Asimov or L. Ron Hubbard-"

Clark couldn't help it, he chuckled at her.

"Oh, great, it's funny."

"I'll just have to prove it to you someday, Ms...?"

"Lane. Lois Lane, _Daily Planet_ ," she stuck out her hand, professional in a heartbeat.

He shook it slowly.

"And _you_ are?" she gave him a look over their tactile exchange.

"I guess I'm just Super-man," he took his hand away, "Good afternoon, Ms. Lane, and you're welcome."

He stepped back and away from her, a smile somewhere behind his face, and turned to look up at the sun. Lois watched as his eyes looked directly into it, the white-hot glare on his face almost too bright for her irises to stand. A moment later he moved up from the ground, arms out to either side of him and creating an aura of godliness about him. He was out of sight a second later, arcing into the sky and leaving Lois Lane confused out of her mind in his wake.

" _Super-man_ , eh? We'll see about that."

* * *

"And what's _your_ name?" A beautiful woman with intelligent eyes had just sauntered over to him from across the room, her heels clicking a perfect beat across the granite floor and her eyes roaming over him in a very bad way. He was standing in the lobby of his hotel, in Metropolis, _with_ his luggage, and he hadn't been here two hours when suddenly slim legs and confidence were filling his vision. He saw ice cubes bobbing in what appeared to be a very alcoholic beverage, and swallowed.

"Richard," he said, and it sounded even to him like he meant to say more. But he didn't. He was dumbstruck. He actually went to look over his shoulder, to see if he really was the person she meant to talk to, despite knowing that there was no one down the empty hallway behind him.

"Richard, hmmm," the woman interjected quickly, "I've never known a Richard. I like meeting names for the first time." She looked him up and down as he tried to take stock of his circumstances: he was standing in an archway which led off to the elevators, it was past midnight, the lobby was dim, and everywhere yellow lights refracted off whatever it was in granite that made it sparkle. The air smelled like fresh flowers, overwhelming and obnoxious, and there was only the murmur of music and laughter from the hotel bar in the ambient silence of elevator music being piped through the speakers.

" _My_ name is Lois. New in town?" Lois rested her elbow on her hip as she stood in perfect contrapposto, the ice cubes jingling and her posture sleek.

'Could people just walk out of bars with drinks? I guess so. How could it be that she's never met a Richard? Was that a _line_?'

"Ac-actually I was born here..." she lit up unexpectedly at his stutter; it unnerved him even more when a finger reached out and smoothed its way down the front of his shirt, "... but I've been gone a long time."

'Does this _really_ happen? Do beautiful and mysterious women _actually_ throw themselves on strangers? That only happens in beer commercials. Could it really ever happen to _him_?'

She had nodded at his response. Richard had the distinct impression that she didn't even care and was only feigning interest... perhaps to make him more at ease for what she said next:

"Why don't I take you over to the bar and buy you a few Welcome Home drinks?" She gave him a coy look, a look meant to be suggestive, and nodded towards the bar. Her long earrings dangled past her hair, which was tied in a messy bun, and Richard watched as they glittered with the movement of her head.

His mouth was dry, this was all happening _very_ fast, and the scent of sweet alcohols and expensive perfume made its way through his cranium, swirling into every receptor it could find. She was intoxicating. He would never normally have spoken to a woman like this, they frightened him; they were too wild, too crazy, too beautiful.

But he was thinking about it, of course he was. His eyes moved down her figure, and he didn't feel the need to hide his appraisal, as she was so glorious in her frank observation of him. She was wearing the classic Little Black Dress, fit for all occasions, and his eyes followed the curve of her body as she stood with most of her weight on one foot. The yellowed lights of the lobby made the exposed flesh of her neck glow in the warm light, and if he squinted she would be just a chest and a pair of legs to him in a heartbeat.

All he had wanted to do was pay the cabbie, buy a newspaper, and go upstairs to sleep. But...

He cleared his throat, "Would you mind if I deposited my things and freshened up? I just flew into KR and it's 5 am for me..." he at once hoped this wouldn't deter her _and_ that it would be enough of a delay to make her go away. Conflicting morals and frank disbelief were running through him and Richard felt very grimy either way. This was certainly no state of dress in which to be seduced, either.

"Oh I don't mind, just don't keep me waiting too long." My god, how could such a simple statement go straight to his imagination with the dirtiest spin it could handle?

Richard hit the Up button, and Lois gave his backside an appreciative look as she tapped her way back across the lobby towards the bar. Richard turned to regard his reflection in the shiny brass of the elevator door and shared a hopeless look with himself.

" _What_ am I doing?"

The door opened and he busied himself with wheeling various suitcases into the tiny space.

"Did that just happen?"

The suitcases offered no comment as they rose together into the building. Richard looked at his keycard and sighed, realizing that he had completely forgotten his room number. He had to dig through all of his pockets before the elevator door Dinged! open and he pulled the information out.

Ten minutes later and after a quick shower Richard was throwing toiletries all around the room looking for his cologne. No matter what his head was consistently saying to his Moral Compass, his body had made many good counterpoints in the shower, and now he was desperate to find his cologne, run his fingers through his damp hair, find his good dress socks and get back downstairs in time. He kept glancing nervously at the bed, all but convinced that he was going to share it with some random siren later that evening, and began to panic.

Here he was, trying to start a new life in this haunted city... but could he deny himself this chance? What did it matter, to just sleep with her? What a _thrill_ it would be to get a woman like this for one night. She was the kind of woman who made not wearing panties _sexy_ , she had legs that Richard yearned to spread apart, and quickly his mind shifted to imagining what he could do to her, if she was willing.

It was amazing, the way he could think about a woman he would never have to see again, the way his mind went simply and brutally straight to the point. He would get to strip the clothing off her body, get to fuck her in this strange bed. He could see how intoxicating a feeling this must be, and it gave him a clue as to what kind of person he was dealing with.

He came to a decision; a wild, out-of-character decision:

Fuck the cologne.

One minute later Richard was hopping on one stocking foot, trying to get into his nice slacks and kicking various shaving and cleaning products under the bed. Thirty seconds more found him shutting the door behind him, staring at the bed as he did so, and walking towards the elevator. Another two minutes and he was moving through the lobby, past the obnoxious flowers, and into the haze of a smoky bar with rich, red carpeting. It might have been a play of the light, but he could have sworn the bartender shot him an amused look.

Lois was waiting at a table in the corner, her legs crossed and exposing far too much skin. She uncrossed them as approached, using one leg to kick out the chair in front of her (which, had anyone else done it, would have been ridiculous). There was a small candle and two drinks; it was about 12:20 on a Saturday morning and that was about the last thing Richard remembered for sure.

The next hour was a blur, as he was soon drunk and hypnotized. The heady feeling of alcohol and danger made the air cold in his lungs as he looked at her, and he realized that this was really happening to a guy like him. He stared at her face, into the hollows of her neck and down to where a single teardrop sapphire hung on a silver chain, dipping into the curve of her breasts.

They were making small talk, he told her about his trip, and she was talking about politics with the detached cynicism of someone who just _really_ didn't care. Richard was turned on and really quite powerless to help it. Just when he thought that he couldn't stand the tension for one more second the most incredible thing that ever happened to him happened:

A small, curious foot started making its way up the inside of his leg, and the next thing he knew things were _really_ blurry.

"What do you say we go upstairs?" Lois acted as if nothing was happening, speaking as casually as if she was shaking his hand instead, and sipped her martini. Richard couldn't believe her.

"Who are you?" Because this doesn't actually happen!

'Come on! She's either going to rob you, _kill you_ , or frame you for something...'

Lois licked her lips, trying not to arose his suspicions, and gestured with her martini glass, "I am a self-aware woman with a pretty crazy sex drive who refuses to be tied down, ergo, I seek out attractive members of the opposite sex and fulfill my basic desires. And when certain desires run too high, when it's been too long since I've wanted something actually _within_ my reach," she seemed frustrated by this, emotionally maybe, sexually probably.

"I take a specific stance: I say fuck the formalities, screw the third date, look someone straight in the eye and invite them to bed for consenting, anonymous sex. Also, by the way, I will not murder you. I'm only what I appear to be. And if I look like a woman who could drive you crazy," the tips of her toes pushed firmly against the taut fabric between his legs, "then it would have to be true."


	17. In Character

The sound of a thumb snapping a credit card on the glass countertop in the cosmetics section of Vanders & Co. halted all conversation in a five foot radius. Clark smiled as three female heads turned in his direction, the gesticulations of a conversation in progress frozen in place as they tried to politely acknowledge his interruption. Owed to the general environment of a classy department store and the impeccable application of expensive makeup, Clark was struck with the impression that he was being regarded by three mannequins. A maze of countertops circled in all directions, and the random canister of coffee beans threw his left nostril for a trip. The combined scent of a hundred perfumes filled his senses and for not the first time, Clark wondered how many shades of blush there really could be.

"Good-" Clark glanced at his watch, "-afternoon."

"Good afternoon," two of them chorused, "May we help you?" asked the third.

They were, the three of them, a motley bunch. The youngest was a brunette with expensive highlights and a gold ring on her right middle finger that kept her thumb busy in a nervous spinning. She smiled at him and glanced up and down in a way that convinced Clark she was a single 20-something. Closer to the counter-top was the woman who appeared to be the oldest, the kind of raven haired 40-something who always walked like she was holding a glass of wine. She eyed Clark like an expert, ignoring the credit card and seeking out his cufflinks (which, luckily, were his best pair). The third and most transparent of the group was a red-head who looked both annoyed and amused. She only stared, mouth still open from her abandoned sentence.

"I was wondering if you would care to take on a challenge?" Clark stepped back from the counter, opening his arms a little and inviting them to assess his whole self and gave them a sheepish look.

Three identical smiles starting crawling up cheekbones. He assumed they worked on commission.

* * *

"Hey! HEY! HEEEEY!"

The flurry of shuffling paper, ringing phones, and multiple news feeds battled with Peter-from-Business's cries.

"I've got six bucks says Floyd only submits a personal statement to that subcommittee hearing. Who wants it?"

"Sit down, Hollins."

"Who carries singles anymore? I haven't seen a dollar bill in two years."

"No, come on, seriously!"

Guy picked up his phone and started punching numbers, the receiver between his ear and shoulder, "Leave me alone."

A line of people was making their way through her aisle and Lois had to keep moving her legs for them to pass. After the eighth time that she was forced to bend one ankle in a weird direction and get her other foot kicked, Lois finally spoke up into the general din of the Bullpen.

"Can't you go another way? Out, out of my aisle, stop it!"

"Lois! I say Floyd-"

Lois never looked away from her monitor and kept typing while she interrupted him, "I have a car payment, no thank you."

A moment passed. Peter sighed.

"Wait, you said _what_? I'll raise you to ten and remind you that his entire reputation rests on this testimony _especially_ because there's a chance he might _actually_ have something to say, there's no way."

"Double or nothing."

"Fine. Will SOMEONE answer Clark's phone! And find me an intern to go to an ATM for me!"

* * *

"Well, we've got to do something about the hair."

"I can change the hair..."

"Do you always wear black shoes? Maureen, get Tom."

"It's Tom's day off."

"Damn. Call... no.. never mind. Fine, I'll do shoes."

"We haven't even established a color yet, Kitty..."

_Kitty_? The woman who acted like a modern day Dame was named _Kitty_?

"You said this was a casual affair?" Kitty asked.

"Um, yes."

"Casual-lunch-at-a-bistro-casual or casual-drinks-after-work-casual?"

Clark couldn't draw a distinct line there.

"Um..."

"Shush, Cecilia," the matron with the sharp eyes waved aside the redhead, "Start from the beginning, we need context."

Having been shuffled over to the men's section Clark now found himself surrounded by subtle colors and had one pair of pants thrown over his left shoulder for "an idea." The brunette was trying to get Clark out of his suit jacket while Cecilia moved towards the display to his left; Clark struggled to talk as the three tempests poked and prodded him.

"Well, I've always worn essentially the same suit. There's a certain someone that I'm seeing uh, outside the office, and all she knows is that.. um, _this_ image," he gestured down to himself, referring to the 'same suit' scenario, "I want her to see someone else. I want to look unrecognizable."

The little Superman on Jason's birthday card had not stopped mocking him from where it was on Clark's dresser. Ever since he had glanced at the poor illustration that, frankly, looked constipated, he had felt the concept of looking eternally the same snipping at the edge of his mind.

'This is you,' the little Superman said to him, 'This is who you are to them.'

He looked forever the same.

It was so _important_.

It was so vital as both Clark Kent and Superman.

It was a layer upon a layer of identity, secrets, visual trademarks...

If he had learned one thing as a young "actor," terrified of college and really quite unused to the crowd he suddenly found himself in, those crazy free-spirited people who had lived their flaws like men sing opera...

He had learned to _stay in costume_...

_Stay in character._

But Clark would roll out of bed in the morning, groggy and true to whoever he was, rumbled and pissed at the sun and just a man. He would moan as he staggered forward, stretch his body towards the sky and remark sullenly and to no one that he had to pee. He would scratch his chest, turn slowly, and catch the little Superman staring at him.

'You are an icon,' it would say to him.

Clark would falter, images of holy men and women surrounded by gold, painted on boards in an empire long ago.

"And that is no way to appear a father," he would say back, his voice rough in the morning air.

A father could not be a flag, a logo, a symbol... a father had to be a man. He wanted, for the first time since he had decided upon his course in life, to flesh out his alter ego, give voice to the concept, be a man in Superman's shoes and gaze down into the eyes of a little boy and know...

"Unrecognizable?"

_...that he had a son_.

"Yes. Unrecognizable."

And of course he was _already_ an ordinary man that Lois saw almost every day, a guy in pants, shirts, ties... a man in midst of the same ordinary life and with the same ordinary clothes as everyone else...

He could not afford to grace her doorstep looking like her partner, either. And so he was here, asking these women to transform both of him.

"Hmmm, that's a fun one."

"I know, we-!"

"We start with short sleeves-"

"- _rolled_ sleeves-"

"-we add accessories-"

"-lose the glasses-"

"-get away from pants-"

"-sandals!-"

"Oh, Kitty, I know just the pair-"

"- how do you feel about _wrist cuffs_?"

"- but only in the Summer collection, we don't want to go black-"

"So, our color is 'not black?'"

"Well, no gray either, I think he's done gray to death..."

Clark went to open his mouth-

"Yes belts or no belts?"

* * *

Lois sighed and pushed away from her desk, slamming the keyboard tray back under the surface and sighing. "This is nowhere man, I need a break. JIMMY!"

She often resurrected this old-fashioned language, something jazzy and bohemian like heroin in the fifties. Perhaps she did it to look cool, or maybe she just didn't notice.

"Hold on!" came Jimmy's less than enthusiastic response.

"I don't need you to move. Just watch my phone, will you?" Lois was bending in half in her chair, reaching out for her purse. Her hangover had reached its plateau and now she just felt like fog in the harbor: sweaty, dull, and not helping anybody.

"That does require me to move."

And sometimes Jimmy would engage Lois in a dialog that sounded like having a conversation with herself.

"You know James, I do favors for you all the time."

"Not as many as I do for you. It's constant with you," Jimmy was moving things around on his desk, seemingly desperate to find something. Everyone in this office lost at least three important things on a daily basis. It was inevitable. Even with the age of computers it had not changed; a lot of this searching time came with typing _article *.doc_ into the search box and getting 50 or more results.

"Oh come on!"

"For how long, I'm busy, you get fifty calls an hour! And here I am, slaving over a hot camera, looking for those pictures."

"Holy shit Jimmy, _which_ pictures?" Lois finally spun around, narrowly avoiding elbowing the crotch of the most recent Bullpen denizen to try and squeeze past her on the way to somewhere else.

"Don't worry, they're here," answered Jimmy as a stack of file folders slipped helplessly in a mudslide towards the edge of his desk.

"WHAT?"

Lois stood at once, coming to attention in her concern.

"I only made it to my mom's last night. I sat through dinner and two episodes of M.A.S.H. before I managed to go up to my room. It took me 45 minutes and a bowl of rice pudding but I found every one I could remember." He was flipping through each stack of photographs and negatives he found with the expert thumb of a creator.

"And now they're _lost_? In _this_ office?" Panic started running through her, tinting her voice with the steely tone she was famous for. She crossed her arms and took a step forward, yet still back from the steady stream of people through the aisle that separated their desks. Jimmy sat behind Lois, across an artery aisle. Clark's desk was to her left, across a smaller vein.

"They're lost on my _desk_ ," Jimmy snapped back impatiently.

"And you're sure about that?" Lois asked with wondering sarcasm.

"Yes, because I found them. HA!" Jimmy turned to face her, holding up a file folder.

"Fuck. Now I really need a break. Please show me those later," Lois let out a breath, "And lock them in your drawer, damnit!"

* * *

"Let it be something good..." Lois was moving stuff around in her purse, searching in eternity for _everything_. No matter what she was looking for, she couldn't find it. Everything in her life was lost, all the time. Rush, rush, rush!

Ahh, there it was.

Lois pulled her tape recorder out of her bag, the wires getting caught on her wallet and pulling three things out with it. She fumbled for a few more seconds before throwing the bag down in disgust and glaring at it while she unraveled the ear buds.

She had been forcing herself through the whole morning, just trying to stave off work until she could have a moment like this one. Her head hurt so much.

Lois often daydreamed that she could go to Mexico, harvest her own agave and distill her own tequila in a copper pot somewhere, talking to it like a horse, because that was the only way she would ever be able to drink the stuff. If she made it herself. Tequila was like placing a penny-sized Lois on a track and then waiting for a train.

She let her head fall back against the wall, the pain of it waking her up a little and reminding her why she was here. Finally she felt slightly better, the morning's black coffee a little uneasy inside her. She took a deep breath, surrendered to the privacy, and hit play.

A few seconds later his voice filled her mind, shut out the light and made her want to sit down. Lois smiled in satisfaction as she let herself slide down the wall to sit. Memories of the previous night ran through her; it had been _amazing_. Other than the few scant hours of restless sleep, she hadn't been able to shake the sound of his voice out of her no matter what she tried to think about.

Lois wasn't used to new memories of Superman haunting her days. That daydreaming had faded long ago with his absence. Her life had changed in every way possible in the meantime, and getting this rare look at her past was disturbing and alluring. She was becoming addicted to it.

_"Can you imagine a world before music? I mean, in the modern sense of radios and MP3s and satellites and mass media..."_

_Lois made a small noise, probably a sarcastic prompt to his rambling, a little sound out of the back of her throat._

"Imagine when music was a band of people, only a few men banging rocks or playing instruments and singing in a medieval court or the Greek chorus or around an Iron Age fire... thousands of years of small snippets of music being played here and there across the planet, outdoors, in taverns or around a fire and by one, two, or a small group of people... And _then_ , Lois, imagine _13th century Austria_!"

Lois listened to herself laughing at what was probably an elaborate hand gesture. She smiled. Now she absolutely loved it when he rambled on about life, the universe, everything.

_"So what kind of music do you listen to?"_

"Every kind. I have a lot of experience with music history."

Lois laughed into the stairwell. 'What a fantastic answer from an alien.' He was full of great answers to her questions. He was a pleasure in every way.

"What do you listen to?"

"My father was very into classic rock, which of course wasn't classic when he was listening to it. But it's interesting anyway since he was in the military during the sixties."

"I had quite a sixties collection."

"Had? What happened to it? What do you have now?"

"I'm afraid you'll have to forgive me, but my time is limited..." He was inviting her back to the topic at hand. He was very good at deflecting her questioning, and had been since the day she met him. It was a remarkable talent in someone so open and honest. She often wondered at the mischief in him, and his almost uncanny knack to sabotage her questioning before it even began.

They went on for awhile...

"I don't know much about the origin of life, I guess I cut that biology class in college."

Superman laughed, " _You didn't take biology in college._ "

Lois laughed back, her voice ringing out-

'Wait.'

Lois hit pause.

'How did he know that?' Her mind raced, picking up on this small moment a full seven years after it happened, 'I never told him much about college. And he wasn't just saying it, he was calling me out on it.'

Lois stared down at the tape recorder.

"How did he know that?"

* * *

"So, you always wear the same type of pants?" asked the older woman, her expensive perfume now easily identifiable over here and away from the cosmetics section.

"Yes." It was fair to say.

"Well, we're going with something looser, maybe off your hips instead of the usual belt... oh but wait, Maureen wanted the belt... we can go something braided... Maureen!"

"Okay," Maureen turned away and Clark felt sorry for her. Could you tip sales people?

"A shirt... a shirt. So we didn't decide on short sleeves, but you'd be amazed what forearms do to a woman..." Kitty had long ago asked Clark to pocket his cufflinks and had rolled his sleeves up, remarking on the nice lines of his wrists.

Clark was trying to imagine himself in loose "summery" pants and short-sleeved in front of Lois. It was a difficult image.

"...and we need a loose jacket for evening wear..."

Evening wear?

Wait a second, he had only meant-

"Excuse me a moment," they looked around, "This isn't meant to be..."

And he froze.

' _...more than one night_ , this _one_ night with my son, with _Lois_.'

He paused, looking at a rack of jackets. How many moments could these different shades and textures represent? How many times could he pull this off? What were the possibilities with a second pair of pants, a second pair of shoes, two more shirts... what were the limitless possibilities?

But it was only supposed to be _one night_. A night Lois had arranged for them... as a family. Hiding. A rushing sounded in his ears.

Clark wanted more than that. More than a solitary night in this existence. He wanted _it all_. Some irrational part of him was screaming, and against his very will, as if speaking with knowledge of a Divine plan, Clark finished with:

"...Actually, yes. Make that a few nights of formal wear."

* * *

"LOIS!" Perry bellowed.

"Yes?" she didn't raise her voice, only responding in the same bored moan she would have had he been standing next to her and not in his doorway.

"A MINUTE?"

"Now?"

"YES!"

"Ugh, fine!"

He watched from his office door as she threw her pad down on the desk in annoyance and jabbed a finger out to turn off her monitor. Lois hated to be interrupted, and even though she knew it was part of a day she still acted as inconvenienced as ever every time it happened. You learned to just ignore it.

"What, Chief?" That same, bored tone.

"I'm not allowed to call an employee into my office for a little chat? Get in!" Perry gestured to the inside of his headquarters as he moved backwards into the space, now impatient himself.

"Sit down!"

"Chief, just tell me what-"

"Lois, sit down," he tried to be sincere in his threat, hoping maybe to appeal to her _heart_.

She grimaced and moved around to the chair, flopping down and crossing her legs. She watched as Perry moved to his chair, swinging it around towards her and from behind his desk.

"Nice weather we're having," Lois made a mocking attempt at conversation, smiling now and obviously amused that Perry wanted to talk to her.

"How's the story going?" He sat down.

"Henderson? Oh just fine. _Why?_ " She gestured out with one hand.

"No reason, just curious," he responded quickly, with an even tone.

There was an obvious silence.

"How do you like working with Kent again?" Was that supposed to sound casual?

"I'm sorry?" That had apparently hit a nerve quicker than expected, and Perry watched as the tell-tale signs of Lois on Edge started to wrinkle their way through her demeanor. Lois was like a brick wall, but it didn't mean that her friends could not get to know her. Perry could tell when Lois cracked, and so could Clark and Jimmy. It was true of all of them, really.

"Is he rusty, is he helping?" These were pointless questions, Perry knew the answers.

"He's _fine_. What do you really want?" She was back to annoyed.

"I want to know about Kent," his voice spoke for finality, for emphasis.

"Chief, he's the same man he's always been: he's crazy and naive and funny and writes a damn good article in half the time it takes an average reporter..." She sighed, looking exhausted at the question.

Perry nodded, satisfied with this answer. It said a lot more than she seemed to realize.

"Why does everyone keep asking me about Clark? Richard, you, and even Jason," she did sound truly exasperated. Perry didn't want to do harm, so he went with the safest follow-up.

"Jason?"

"Yes. He apparently really took a liking to Clark, you know how kids get heroes?"

"Clark is his hero?" An interesting thought for a man so modest and passive.

"No, it's the Superman thing. They talk about Superman. Jason likes that Clark will answer his questions forever."

Perry chuckled, memories of ceaselessly barraging his uncles with questions about old time baseball players rising to mind. He imagined that most young boys had come to admire Superman in his second coming.

"They do get along," he nodded to the Bullpen, alluding to Clark's stints as Jason's best playmate as well, "It figures that Clark would be good with kids."

Lois laughed on cue to this observation between mutual friends, shaking her head at Clark as so many do.

"It's funny that he doesn't seem to attract anyone."

"Not true, Janet had a huge crush on him. He's much more the marrying type than what's-his-face anyway."

Perry guffawed, memories of Janet's ex-husband all very fresh, "Would you marry someone like Clark one day?"

"Me? What? _No._ I don't want to marry _anyone_."

He wondered if she had slipped or if she had wanted to finally say it. A shocked expression crossed her face a second later, and then Lois gave Perry a wary and embarrassed look. He let the silence speak for itself.

"You always knew I didn't want to marry Richard."

" _Lois, you let the man raise his son!_ " Perry was whispering to her in the still office, the muted Bullpen only white noise in their ears.

Her expression blanked, a sure sign that Perry had hit at something.

"You don't understand, Perry." Her voice was steely, and with that, Lois Lane was back.

"Of course I don't," he sighed, regretting that she had closed up on him. Well, this was progress none-the-less.

"Are you trying to analyze me? Did Richard put you up to this?"

"No one put me up to anything! I've just decided to start paying attention for the first time in awhile. You, if you haven't noticed, have fired back up, so why shouldn't I notice?"

"Notice what?"

"Lois, it starts very small on you, it really does, but I can sense when you're having a crisis and I'm trying to find out what it's-"

" _What_? I live the same perfectly ordinary daily life, nothing has changed!"

"It starts small," she gave him a truly nasty look, "I realize it's been years _, but_ -"

Lois stood up, apparently enraged at him, "You have no idea what you're talking about. My life is complicated beyond a level even YOU, with your two mistresses, could imagine and I will thank you to stay OUT of my business. I may be temporarily engaged to your nephew and you can go ahead and tell him so if you feel sadistic enough, but I will not sit here and be asked soul-searching questions about _Clark Kent_ or ANYONE for that matter. So piss off!"

Perry sat back, truly scolded for an instant and oddly proud of her.

The next few moments found her sweeping out the door, her face set in a straight line and headed straight for Jimmy. He watched her go, worried.

* * *

"Give me these goddamn photographs!" Lois yanked open Jimmy's drawer without a second's notice and nearly knocked it into Jimmy's knee when he jumped in his seat. She had come from behind him and he was caught off guard, looking up at her with startled eyes and pressing his hand to his phone receiver.

"Lois, what?"

"Get off the phone!" Lois was already flipping open the flap and trying to peer inside.

"I'm in the middle of somethin-"

"Fine, meet me in the stairwell. You have three minutes."

Lois clicked away from Jimmy, her feet aching but her temper flaring.

"God damn you people!" she yelled at the Bullpen in general on her way to the stairwell. She was weaving, her body in engaged in dance with the legs, desks, chairs, and people in front of her. Lois was aware of how frequently she looked like a mad woman, and figured she might as well enjoy it.

"Rip apart whoever you're assigned to BUT LEAVE ME THE HELL ALONE!"

Richard had already stepped out of his office and was watching her retreating back from where he hung forward off his doorframe. He saw her gesture in the air with a large envelope as if brandishing a sword into battle.

"And since everyone is so keen to remark on how 'fired up' I've been, how about we pause to remember who exactly you're dealing with!"

She spun on her heel to face the Bullpen at large, whipping the envelope around as she did so, her hair landing delicately on her shoulders.

"I will take on the next person who decides to be interested in my life and slam his name down in ink _so fast_ and thorough that his own _mother_ will resent him."

She took a deep breath, lifting her purse onto her shoulder and twisting around to walk away, giving the finger in the air above her head, a trademark exit by Lois Lane.

"Piss off!" she cried one last time, banging into the stairwell with most of the Bullpen in a state of mild surprise as they watched her go. Richard appreciated how difficult it was to startle these people.

"Except you, Jimmy," and Lois waved her hand behind her head, inviting him to follow at once, her quick heels clicking up the concrete steps as the door swung shut.

Richard watched as Jimmy rushed someone off the phone and stood up. He took two steps before spinning around and grabbing the loop of his camera bag off his desk in a graceful motion. The younger man trotted across the room, weaving in and out in the same path Lois had taken, and opened the door at a normal speed before walking slowly up the steps.

Richard turned his head, shock and confusion mingling with some distant, constant anger. He saw his uncle standing in his own doorframe.

"Uncle Perry?"

"Hmmm?" he grunted.

"What was that?"

Suddenly a reporter Richard recognized but could never name turned around from where he was at the copy machine. He regarded Richard from over the top of his glasses and flicked his eyes over to the editor and back again.

"Lois is upset," the man responded, sounding as if it were the answer to a math question.

"You're fired!" snapped Perry.

"Not just now, I mean in general, about everything."

"And you think this because...?" Richard prompted.

"Lois always wants to be alone when she's upset."

* * *

"You were hiding quite a body under there, weren't you?"

Clark had always attracted older women. In addition to making a very awkward first impression with every set of parents he ever had the chance to "be taken home to," it often led to moment like this. Lois once suggested it was because he had a 'masculine baby face' and that had quite disturbed him. But, then again, she had been talking to Superman.

"Yes, I um," am I really going to say this? "I work out."

"Apparently. Maureen, he's going to need a bigger neck size than that."

"Okay," the brunette with the highlights turned away.

"You wear a size thirteen well," the pseudo-Kennedy purred from beside him. Clark gave a mental sigh.

"Thank you." Was she talking about his shoes?

A long silence reigned.

Clark found himself staring at himself in the three-sided mirror that donned the inside of the woman's dressing room at Vanders & Co. His consultant team apparently found it easier to work on him here. He thought it was rather funny.

It was a surprisingly large space decorated with muted colors and patterns. There was furniture, a nice assortment of art reproductions and even a plush carpet. Fresh flowers blossomed everywhere, the overwhelming scent of them invading his entire mind. His eyes kept glancing at his surroundings through the mirror, trying to avoid the attempted conversation at hand; the mirror had three angled panes and gave him a 180 degree look at the room... with him standing in the way.

He felt suddenly dizzy and warm, and took a deep breath, closing his eyes. These moments used to happen to him when he was younger, and notably when he arrived in Metropolis to live there full-time. It was just a matter of his senses overloading. It must be all the flowers in the room, or the infinity of reflections in the mirror when he looked a certain way.

Clark used these few quiet moments to breathe, to try and relax his senses back to normal. But it wasn't working. He opened his eyes, the myriad of reflections stared back at him. _He_ stared back at him. He blinked, confused, his senses overloading.

He could smell _everything_ : every whisper of movement, every petal of every flower, every bit of Kitty and the rest of the store. It entered through his nostrils and swirled there, the essence of everything that had ever bloomed stuck inside him.

He could usually tailor his range, hem in the ability to experience everything. But now the hundreds of scents barraged him, stole his consciousness as he attempted to process every taste, every flavor on the air. He ran through a list of roses, naming as many as he could, his eyes moved from color to color as fast as possible, seeking out the origination of the scents and somehow managing to accomplish this _backwards_ in a mirror. His brain was on its side, peering at that reality with one eye closed as if trying to see a lopsided picture on a screen. Carpet, polyester fill, beneath your feet. Roses, in a vase behind you, in a vase to the right of you, there, to the left of you. A mirror, in front of you, you, before you. A mirror, to the left of you, your eyes, inside you, you, in front of you.

He felt like a computer, its processor clicking away, data streams racing through his synapses, rendering every image and association as fast as it possibly could, and then more.

"How about this beige?"

Clark's mind came up short as he was startled out of his thoughts. He slammed his eyes shut, afraid, and then opened them an instant later to look right at himself. As he met his own gaze, his eyes now finally holding still, he froze in horror at the chaos within him. It was like realizing that he had gone insane, and was looking out at the world for the first time in ages.

'Stop!' he took a deep breath, staring at himself trapped in the mirror.

'Stop!' a cold chill settled in the middle of his chest, his breath turning to fog.

"STOP!"

A woman shrieked from behind him, the cloud burst. Clark fell forward against the mirror, a hand coming out in a blur to support his fall against the glass. Amazingly, given his state of mind, he managed to catch himself without shattering it, and then he stood rooted to the spot, his forehead pressed against the cool glass. His knees buckled for only an instant.

"Are you alright?" someone asked. Clark realized it was the redhead, Cecilia.

"Yes," Clark whispered, a catch in his throat. He gave a grunting cough and took a deep breath.

He was _not_ okay.

He heard her come up to left just as he moved to lean away from the glass, putting his feet back under him.

"I'm fine," he said quickly.

He was not fine.

* * *

Jimmy was watching Lois pace, her shadow mingling with the shadow of the globe above them. She was billowing smoke and angry.

"Damnit Jimmy, what am I going to do? What am I going to do?"

He didn't answer her or even ask what she meant, because this was how Lois answered her own questions, by asking them to other people she trusted and then answering for them.

"How am I going to raise Jason and not tell Richard? How could I NOT tell Richard? How could Richard not _find out_ , which is even _worse_ , because it means I should just _do it_!"

She waved her cigarette around as if signing her name in the air and looking quite frantic.

"Jimmy, the man never did a thing wrong, he just was in the wrong hotel at the wrong time. None of this should have ever been his responsibility, he never needed to have had put up with _me_ , what the fuck did he ever do wrong? The man has been a SAINT to me!" she turned to Jimmy, "I'm not stupid, I know exactly who I am and I live that way as honestly as I know how and that means _I'm impossible_."

She resumed pacing, broad certain strides across the tarred roof with the little pebbles.

"But I can't do it. I _can not_ do it. I cannot risk Jason losing Richard; my baby deserves a father."

Jimmy's heart broke a little at the strength of Lois' words. Jimmy hadn't had a father, and he loved her in that moment. Lois was so pure sometimes.

"And Richard is a good man, he always has been."

Lois stopped suddenly, dropping her cigarette and resting her face in her hand. Her other arm came around her waist and she rested her elbow there, taking on the posture of the truly woeful.

"That's why I'm doing what I'm doing."

Jimmy waited for her to elaborate, but she did not. They stood there in the stillness, listening to the city below them and basking in the August sun. The winds up here were just strong enough to cool.

"Let me see the pictures."

"Come inside," he said softly.

Jimmy turned and heard Lois following him.

He pushed into the dark, cool concrete and steel enclosure, the surroundings very familiar again despite the fact that Lois hadn't haunted the roof stairwell in years. Jimmy had once joked that she should move her desk up here.

They turned to face each other, Lois stooping down to lean a hand down and plop down onto the concrete. She scooted back up against a wall and bent a leg, resting her elbow on it and looking expectantly up at Jimmy.

He sighed, took two steps up to her and sat down, scooting to the same wall so they could both look in the same direction. Lois opened the envelope, slipped out the file folder and tossed it onto the bridge created by their two outstretched legs, Lois' right and Jimmy's left. She waited.

"The first one is my favorite," he reached out and picked up the cover of the folder, flipping it open, letting it fall across the rest of Lois and settling against her other bent leg.

It could have been the cover of a comic book, it was so iconic and symmetrical an image. Lois and Superman were standing back to back, side by side, facing in two different directions and both looking very serious. Their stances mimicked each other; it looked like they had both just stepped back from something, twin expressions of shock and surprise on their faces, strength in their alliance towards both threats. Lois was facing right, one heeled shoe back and her hair in a messy bun; Superman towered above her, facing left, his eyes narrowed and about to speak.

Lois let out a small chuckle, "That's awesome, Jimmy."

He laughed, a surge of delicate pride at her praise.

"Yeah, that's why it's my favorite. I was zoomed in from across the street, this was during-"

"Oh please Jimmy, I remember," she sighed, "That was so long ago."

"The first TV press conference."

"Yup. I had to share him for the first time, a shitty feeling for any reporter."

She laughed down at the picture anyway, an open smile on her face.

"Didn't Perry want to use this?"

"Yeah, but there was no room for it. And RayRay said it was cheesy."

"It is a little cheesy," admitted Lois, still smiling through her words.

"It's still awesome," Jimmy quipped back, the finality of this statement clear to them both. He reached out and flipped that photo onto the opposite page, exposing the next.

" _Ho-ly_ crap, Jimmy, I can _not_ believe I forgot about this one."

It was, for lack of a better comparison, like the cover of a Playgirl (except for form fitting spandex). Wet and dripping from having saved a drowning victim Superman stood in the midst of a thousand glimmering drops of water, the sunlight highlighting every single one where it was drying on his body. Everything managed to stick tighter than usual, and nothing was left to the imagination except skin tone. Every muscle, every dip and weave of tissue and form was highlighted and shadowed by pure sunlight.

Lois eyes were moving across the picture without any conscious effort, the primal and feminine curiosity older than humanity itself making her appreciate what she saw in front of her. From the sweep of his exposed neck and down the muscles of his chest, Lois let herself see every little plane. She imagined her fingers running along the material stretched wet and tight across him, the tips of her fingers actually tingled with memories as she saw familiar spots.

Her mind played with her body as she sat there, lost in these few seconds, not being able to help herself as her eyes went lower, looking at the dark promise that rested dormant behind a few layers of clothing. Lois almost licked her lips as she imagined her hand over him, seeking him out, making him react…

Her eyes snapped back to the whole picture: His hair was mussed, squinting into the sun with more ease than a human being could and looking absolutely gorgeous.

Jimmy was already snickering. Lois was just staring with her mouth open.

"Oh man I can not believe I took that picture," he was outright laughing now, averting his eyes from the onslaught of virility that could not help but make his heterosexually squirm back in the suburb that Jimmy came from.

" _Look_ at that," Lois sighed, "God damnit."

Jimmy calmed down and looked around at her, still staring down.

"That is quite a prize," she said all too seriously, a dangerous look coming into her eye.

Jimmy picked up on her tone immediately and reached out to turn the picture over as if enthused by seeing the next one rather than removing the last one...

Superman was standing with his shoulders hunched, his posture bent a little with Lois sitting on the back of a police car next to him, wrapped in a blanket. She was pointing a finger up at him, peeking out from behind the heavy state-issued material and her face laughing. Superman was hiding a large grin with one hand, tilting his head away from the surrounding people even though none of them were paying attention. It looked like a shy reaction to ongoing teasing, reminiscent of a funny conversation already in progress.

"I have no idea what you were saying, but he could _not_ stop laughing."

Jimmy watched a huge smile move across Lois' face, and he recognized it as the grin she wore when it didn't occur to her to laugh.

"I don't remember, I mean I don't remember the joke. I think it had something to do with different colored buttons? Like on a panel, not on a shirt?" Lois was thinking out loud all of a sudden, probably trying to connect the sensation to the images.

"I was tempted to photocopy this one and have a caption contest in the office," Jimmy deadpanned at her, mimicking her and not realizing it.

Lois threw her head back and laughed, now finally really amused. It took a lot to get Lois to openly laugh so hard and suddenly, as if overwhelmed by hilarity. In fact Lois herself often admitted this, trying to reassure people that they _were_ funny but that she never laughs. You had to be satisfied with a smile or a raised eyebrow with Lois, and Jimmy had heard her complain in a meaner moment that it was because everyone was so damned predictable. She hated popular jokes or expressions that just kept on, like Jim Carrey impressions or the same pun in every headline in the city. It needed to be new, sincere, or just damn funny.

Lois came down from laughing and forced out a short sentence: "You should!" She laughed again, shaking her head, "Oh man."

Jimmy reached out again, flipping that photo aside.

The next picture had Lois as the victim, and it was also quite funny. It was a tight shot of the two of them, the frame only tall enough to capture Lois' shoulder and the space to the top of Superman's head. They were standing directly in front of each other, and Superman was pointing down to Lois with a look of barely contained triumph. Lois, opposite him and staring wide eyed into his face, had her hand clapped over her mouth in a gesture of utter shock. It looked as if Lois had just that very second heard something amazing or scandalous, and the moment caught her sincere reaction and Superman's poised satisfaction in perfect clarity.

Lois let out a small, "Huh!" at the photo, as if starting an argument with it.

"I have _always_ wanted to know what he said to you," Jimmy could barely contain his smile.

He watched as a blush, red and deep swept across Lois' whole face. She sneaked a quick look at him, horrified at her uncharacteristic reaction.

"He said," she paused, swallowing,"'I heard you last night.'"


End file.
